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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24156163">Alone at the Edge of the Universe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PossiblyHuman/pseuds/PossiblyHuman'>PossiblyHuman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>a really self indulgent au [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Because I can, Childhood Trauma, LonelyEyes, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Selkie!Peter Lukas, Trans Peter Lukas, a selkie au but peter lukas is the selkie and hates it, honestly a ludicrous amount of exposition, no betas we die like men, typical of selkies since you know. kidnapping</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:08:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,545</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24156163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PossiblyHuman/pseuds/PossiblyHuman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn’t help it. He was twelve, and had never been fond of stories. Perhaps if he had known this would have been his only chance to read this story, he would have paid more attention. Instead, he closed the book, stroking his hands over the coat one more time before hanging it back on the hook branded with his initials. </p><p>There was a feeling of intense sadness, leaving it there like that. It tore at him, deep in his core as he walked to the door. Basically begging him to go back for it. He ignored it. If he could ignore the cries of his own siblings, a coat would never hold any sort of a sway over him.</p><p>(Or, a self indulgent au where the Lukas family are all repressed and cursed selkies, and Peter deigns to ignore that. Until he no longer can anymore.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>a really self indulgent au [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Tigress_Den_Of_Amazing_FanFictions</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. An Introduction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Down, down, down. A repeat of such a recent occurrence in young Peter's life, but with a different outcome. A different tone, flanked by cold and distant faces.</p><p>Being taken to the basement of Moorland house <em> again </em>wasn’t something Peter expected. The faces that surrounded him this time were less, and the tone read far more sober than the revelation of the great truth that had come before. His mother was not present among them, and he was led wordlessly to a door up the wall from the one that had revealed to him his god. His Lonely, who he still reeled with the knowledge of. The perfection. He could feel its call even here. And it was just a few doors down. He could turn and grip the handle, join again the feeling he'd felt so recently. The pain, the gentle fear, the perfect, isolating aloneness.</p><p>He yearned to go back into that room.</p><p>But they didn’t take him there. The room they led him into was cold, and it appeared to be an oversized closet. He hid his disappointment. A huge contrast to his other experience. The dark coats that hung neatly in rows were confusing to him, the stench of seawater digging into his nostrils. They stopped in front of one of the smaller coats, which looked as though it had never left this room. It was dull and spotted in a way that reminded him of the freckles that scattered across his face.</p><p>Peter knew it was his before they gave it to him. He didn’t need to read the initials above the hook, newer than the ones next to them, since his had changed and hers had not, to know it was his. He felt it. </p><p>His hands held out on their own as one of his relatives...Nathaniel? Dropped it into them. He inhaled, an icy jolt filling his lungs. This was his. This belonged around him, with him, forever. It was like a part of his soul, cold ocean water, was reunited with himself. His mind felt as clear as the day he learned about the Lonely. He clutched it instinctively closer to himself. </p><p>A book was also placed on top of the coat. Gently. </p><p>“Leave it here when you go.” Nathaniel said to him, cold and stern and unfamiliar. And then they were all gone. </p><p>Peter sat down, laying it across his lap as he did. It was dizzying, feeling whole for the first time in his life. He sat there for a long time, staring at it and running his hands over it. It was made from an animal’s skin, he was sure, though he had no idea what. It was heavy, and warmed under his touch, though he felt the cold radiating from it.</p><p>It was addictive. Each touch felt more amazing, made him feel more whole.</p><p>It was half an hour before he even looked at the book. It was always <em>so hard</em> for him to show an interest in literature. Perhaps it was the stories themselves, perhaps it was the way the words danced out of his sight if he wasn't focusing hard enough, twisting and tumbling over themselves and the page.</p><p>The book old, heavy and leather-bound. The front cover simply read “Lukas”. He opened it with some reluctance, scanning over the first few words of the book.</p><p>A few chapters in had him realizing the book was an excruciatingly boring retelling of his ancestor, Mordechai, and how he came to be ensnared with different powers. Fear and myth. The Lonely and the Sea. Bound to one by devotion, the other by a curse. </p><p>That was what the coat is, a remnant of the curse. Meant to be kept close to his person at all times. That was interesting to him. It detailed that the coats were torn away from each child at birth. The Lukases had all of theirs locked away in this room as a sign of faith to the Lonely. He didn’t get far enough to see <em> how </em> or <em> why </em> that had been the case, mouth twisting downwards again at the detailed pages about feelings and <em>calls</em> of the ocean.</p><p>He couldn’t help it. He was twelve, and had never been fond of stories. Perhaps if he had known this would have been his only chance to read this story, he would have paid more attention. Instead, he closed the book, stroking his hands over the coat one more time before hanging it back on the hook branded with his initials. </p><p>There was a feeling of intense sadness, leaving it there like that. It tore at him, deep in his core as he walked to the door. A part of his soul, begging him to go back for it. He ignored it. If he could ignore the cries of his own siblings, a coat would never hold any sort of a sway over him.<br/><br/>Nathaniel was outside, and he raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised to see him so early. It had barely been an hour. But he said nothing as Peter handed him the book.<br/><br/>“I’d rather stick to <em> my </em>god, not myths and fairytales.” Peter said. His chin was lifted high, all of the gangly pride of a messy haired twelve-year-old boy in his movements. He didn’t allow a response, honestly unsure if he would get one, and marched his way up the stairs. Alone. </p><p>--</p><p>He never expected to see the coat again, but he had turned a sort of vague fascination to the sea since. Unrelated, he thought, musing over the idea of a "call" of the ocean and dismissing it. There was, however, a deep draw to it, one he couldn’t explain away. Perhaps he realized the untapped potential for sacrifices, perhaps he realized the notion of limited interaction for months on end. </p><p>At the next Lukas funeral, before the rituals, he spoke to Nathaniel of his new investment to the Lonely and to his interests, the <em>Tundra</em>. His uncle had listened with the sort of cold disinterest he had become used to. A disinterest that made one question if he was <em> really </em>paying attention, or merely waiting for you to leave. Nathaniel had the coat sent to him a week later, a note attached to return it should he ever decide the ocean was not for him.</p><p>He’d known what the package was as soon as he saw it. It exuded that strange thrall. Begging him to tear the package open and throw the coat around his shoulders. Neatly tied around it was something that looked like a whistle. He took that, feeling the comforting power of his god as his fingers closed around it. His fingers trailed over the paper. It shifted under them, like it was alive. Peter snatched his hand away.<br/><br/>...He had a coat. One he had bought specifically for his time on the Tundra. It was sturdy, and waterproof, and certainly not made of animal skin. He had no need for the coat. Especially one that would be far too small for him now. </p><p>The package came with him, on the Tundra, but it was thrown into the corner of the closet in his cabin. He didn’t send it back, understanding some of the stranger aspects of his family tradition were still important enough to pay attention to. The thrall didn’t stop.</p><p>So, as most things in his life he couldn’t get rid of did, it became a self-tortuous game with himself. He made a point to pass by the closet without opening it, feeling the familiar tugging at his chest, an itchy to his fingers. It became a point of pride that he had never opened it. Something else he yearned for that he could give to his god. Even if he knew it didn’t work that way.</p><p>He pretended to forget it, but he found his eyes would settle on the door to the closet when he was alone. </p><p>It was almost delightful, how much it tortured him to not give in and open it. Run his fingers over the thing again. See just what would happen on the open sea were he to throw it over his shoulders like it begged him to.</p><p>He kept his god well-fed, and spent most of the year on the boat or in a port. Even when he would have to leave his boat for a few weeks, as he did currently, he never moved the box from his closet. </p><p>But Nathaniel was growing old, and though Peter wasn’t his son in any capacity, he was the next devoted Lukas. The heir of sorts, and he would be taking over aspects of his uncle’s job soon. The old man wasn’t going to die, oh no, he just deserved the respect of a retirement, for the long years spent <em> dealing with people </em> for the Lukases. </p><p>To be honest, the idea of being that link to the world...was unpleasant for Peter. But he’d grin and bear it, and he <em> was </em> one of the more sociable (while still being deeply devoted, the most sociable had all fled years ago) of the family. And one of the items on his list of duties was the Magnus Institute.</p><p>He'd met James Wright before, briefly. Not in the Institute, as Nathaniel had insisted otherwise. It made him nervous, Peter thought. Peter had been younger, then, barely old enough to be trusted with these things. Barely old enough to not have a tutor anymore. He'd been told to accompany Nathaniel, and he did. He'd been far too young and bored to participate in the conversation that followed.</p><p>And that was fine by him. He'd listened a bit, but all he found was that Nathaniel and James were both very dull people. He kept his head down, as James said something that clearly grated on the other. Something personal, secretive. Petty. An old romance between him and someone James had known. He'd hinted at more, and Peter kept his head down, scratching a nail into the table in front of him. It was more than he'd needed to know about his uncle. Ever. </p><p>But that was years ago. He didn't remember much else. A new head had taken over a couple of years ago now, and Nathaniel had figured this was as good a time as any to retire. Out with the old, in with the new.</p><p>Peter had been deeply shocked when he heard one of his duties would be to continue family tradition. His family funded the Eye. Another entity. It confused him for a while, until he had caved and asked Nathaniel. When he explained the arrangements, it made more sense. Information for funding of information. Simple, really. Enough that he didn’t ask any further questions. He should have.</p><p>Now, he’d docked and made his way to London. There was a tug for a while. That damned coat. But the further he got away from it, the fainter it became. By the time he’d arrived in London, it bothered him no more than a small feeling of loss. </p><p>That suited him just fine. It kept his head light.</p><p>Peter sat at a more private section of a café. He’d been the first to arrive, something he found actually a bit of a relief. That meant he could rest before having to deal with both his uncle and this new person he would have the hell of corresponding with until another Lukas replaced him. He’d gotten a tea, choosing to doctor it to his liking in his corner instead of letting the barista do it.</p><p>Peter liked tea sweet, and the simplicity of ordering it plain instead of spending further time with conversation was easier. He could add his own until it fit his tastes. </p><p>He sat, sipping it, eyes drifting out the window instead of observing around the café. He watched a couple go by, swinging their hands together as they went. A picture to the world of how much they meant to each other, and a desperate cling to keep that meaning secure. He suppressed a sneer by taking a sip of his tea, and was quite unprepared to be jostled in the same moment. The tea spilled down his front, and he stood up before it could reach his lap, turning his head to the man who'd jostled him.</p><p>“Oh, I’m <em>so</em> sorry.” The man who had bumped him said, bunching napkins from the table. Peter jerked back as if he'd been stung as he pressed them to his shirt, trying to sop up the mess. <em>Don't touch me</em>. He thought, feeling the his fingertips dig in slightly over his sternum. It didn’t seem to bother the man, as he instead turned to the table. He was well dressed and neat, perhaps a businessman of some kind, and he found himself glaring down at him, and then to the spreading stain.</p><p>“Let me buy you a new one.” The man said insistently, pausing to look up at him. Peter suppressed a shiver as he did, the man’s hazel eyes boring into him deeply. He felt <em> seen</em>, and he hated it.</p><p>“No!” He said just a bit too quickly. The man raised an eyebrow to him, and Peter plastered an easy, soft, <em> fake </em> smile on his face.</p><p>“<em>No</em> need! Thank you. I’m just waiting on someone, I’ll wait until they get here to get a new one.”<br/><br/><em> Go away. </em> The man blinked at him, and adjusted his glasses. He looked ready to say something. Oh, Peter hoped he wouldn’t. Go away. <em> Go away </em> . He couldn’t <em> make </em> him, not in a café this crowded. Summoning the Lonely would be an unnecessary mess for his family. Witnesses. Exposure. Still, he willed him to go, hoping his body language was enough as he stayed tense, sitting back down.<br/><br/>“Oh, you must be waiting for me, then.” A hand was offered to Peter as soon as he settled. “Elias Bouchard. Peter Lukas, I assume? Nathaniel sent me a message this morning. He won’t be able to make it.”<br/><br/>Peter stared at the hand, completely unprepared for this sort of interaction. He <em> had </em> been, but the tea had him on edge now. And he was without Nathaniel. </p><p>Maybe he should get a phone. He wouldn’t be so caught off guard by things like this.</p><p>He didn’t know what this new man knew of, well, anything. His smile tightened, and he took the hand, enveloping it in his own. Bouchard's hand was warm. Peter knew his was cold, and he hoped it was unpleasant, though he dropped it quickly. “Yes, that would be me.”<br/><br/>“Well, Mr. Lukas. Suppose you might allow me to buy you that tea, now?” Elias Bouchard had a casual, cheerful tone to his voice, posh accent aside. Peter shrugged. </p><p>“If you’d like.” It would give him a break as he went off to do so. Bouchard smiled at him and turned away. Like a plaster ripped away, he sighed in relief at his moment’s respite. A moment out of that piercing gaze. Peter lowered his eyes immediately again to the wet stain on his front, picking at it with a sigh. Wonderful. A klutz of a business partner for the foreseeable future. He sighed again, rubbing a hand down his face. Gathered himself again.<br/><br/>Bouchard came back far too soon, sliding a cup to Peter. He hadn’t brought any sugar.</p><p>Peter frowned, he’d forgotten to ask. It’d be awkward to get up and get some now. So, he left the cup where it was for now. Bouchard sipped from his own cup, sitting across from him. </p><p>He sat very straight, very put together. And he was young, not as young as Peter, but young enough that it would be ludicrous for him to lead a research institution. Peter found his examination disrupted by how much he stared. He found it unsettling to meet the other's eyes.</p><p>Peter supposed it made sense, for an institute led by the Ceaseless Watcher. But he wished, oh he wished, he would cease watching <em> him </em>. </p><p>“...So.” He said, breaking the silence first, looking away. “We’ll be working together, then! I’m not sure if Nathaniel told you, but he’s retiring.”</p><p>“Yes, I know.” Bouchard replied. “He filled me in on the details. I think we have little to do here but introduce ourselves, go over what reports I've brought, and exchange contact information. To begin from the reverse.” Bouchard shifted in his seat, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. “I don’t have your number. Or your email." Each step was said with a hint of staccato annoyance. "Or anything of the kind that would allow me to contact you.”<br/><br/>“...I don’t have any of those.” Peter admitted. Bouchard’s face crossed to one of disbelief, and a bit of irritation. AS if he were being toyed with, and he found that idea unpleasant. Peter smiled, spreading his hands wide. <em> Sorry, but not really. </em> “No, truly. Neither fit my style.”<br/><br/>Bouchard placed his phone face down on the table, expression vague and unreadable. “...I suppose written correspondence will do <em>for now</em>. Now, shall we get to know each other?”<br/><br/>Peter absolutely didn’t want to do that. But, he grimaced and picked up his cup. “I would prefer to stick to business, for now.”<br/><br/>“Very well.” The eyes watched him lift the cup to his lips, and then dropped down, shuffling papers. “I just thought it might be nice, but-” And then he delved into reports, past budgetary decisions of his predecessor, and future plans. It would all have been very boring to him, and he might have even started to tune the new Institute head out, if he hadn’t frozen after a sip of his drink.</p><p>The tea was sweetened the <em> exact </em> way he liked it. Something even Peter found hard to manage, either putting in too much, or having to rise again to fix his mistake. He swallowed, putting the cup back to the table. He tried to focus on the words, all budgets and numbers, but he felt a feeling of dread inside him. The dread grew into a pit, and thoughts began to spiral, paranoid. How much more could he know? Could he-</p><p>Peter cleared his throat, voice low. “Don’t do that.”<br/><br/>“Do what?” Bouchard asked flatly, not looking up from his papers. Peter still felt watched.<br/><br/>“You know what. That’s not part of this business relationship. Knock it off.”<br/><br/>Bouchard raised his eyes, looking over the rims of his glasses at Peter. The feeling increased slightly, and Peter wondered if he had made a mistake. He shouldn’t have let it be known it bothered him. It was an error he might have to pay for. The pressure increased in the air, to an almost unbearable amount. Peter sucked a breath in. He began to wonder if he should be opening the Lonely behind himself, to retreat. </p><p>And then, seemingly out of nowhere, Bouchard’s eyes dropped again, the feeling immediately fading away to nothing.<br/><br/>“Of course, this past year will be a mess to untangle-” And Bouchard continued on. </p><p>Peter left in the fastest possible way when it was over, Elias Bouchard's phone number pressed into his palm. He shoved it into his pocket, and retreated out of the café, retreated out of the city, and he didn’t feel alright again until he boarded the Tundra. The piece of paper was thrown into the closet, on top of the box that almost <em> sang </em> when he set his eyes on it again. He was almost weak enough to tear it open, to press the coat to himself and take comfort in its presence.</p><p>He didn’t. He went to bed.<br/><br/>It took him four months to return to London, a letter finding him in a port in the Caribbean. It was fancy, and it had the little owl of the Institute sealing the expensive card-stock envelope shut. The paper itself was gold-lined. He didn’t bother asking how Elias Bouchard found out where he was, he tossed the letter onto his side table, turned the ship around, and went to do his duty.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>someone...talk about lonelyeyes with me. please...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was pouring. The kind of heavy rain that sent all of the tourists running to pubs or museums, shoes squeaking on the floors and leaving dripping puddles of destruction in their wake. The kind of heavy rain that set even the locals on a quick pace, hurrying to their destinations and pulling their coats tightly around themselves. The kind person it took to remain in the gray streets of London was one that was always unique. And there were so few people who were, at least to Peter Lukas. </p><p>London became almost tolerable to the servants of the Lonely when it rained. </p><p>Peter didn’t bother with umbrellas, he’d always had a slight dampness to him that negated the point. His hair was never dry, wet strands falling over his forehead to bring droplets falling down his forehead. He didn’t know if that came from the Lonely, or the so-called Lukas curse, but it didn’t really matter to him. Wet was wet.</p><p>Rain didn’t matter in the scheme of things, thinking that way. If you're already wet, more water joining you reaches a point of not mattering anymore. You can really only feel the difference in the direction it takes, dripping downwards. Sometimes, a kind person offered to walk with him, putting an umbrella over his tall head and asking where he was going. A blank stare always sent them walking away. Or, almost always. </p><p>“Where are you going?”</p><p>The person who looked at him now, quirking her eyebrow as the umbrella dripped onto her uncovered shoulder, was old. Uncowed by his stare. He was close to the Institute now, and the last thing he wanted was a conversation with this stranger.<br/><br/>“Where are you going?” She repeated, more firmly this time. He hated the tone in her voice. Mothering, or at least the facsimile of it. It made his skin crawl. He hated the look in her eyes. Stubborn. She wasn’t going to leave without an answer. Peter tried for a few seconds more, heavy eyebrows lowering to stare at her, nothing but the sound of the rain on the umbrella between us. But, eventually he gave in.</p><p>“The Magnus Institute.” He said reluctantly. </p><p>“Oh? You can walk with me. I’m heading there myself,” The woman said brusquely, beginning to walk. Peter didn’t move, eyes narrowing at her, so she stopped, gesturing to him to follow. He really didn’t want to, but it would have been more effort to leave her at this point. He sighed, ducking his head back under her umbrella. “You’re soaked, you know.” She said conversationally. It was funny, her words could be read as worrying, but there wasn’t a trace of it in her tone. “I’ve never seen you there before. Are you going to make a statement? I’m afraid most of my assistants are out today-”</p><p>Peter began to tune her out. She seemed satisfied enough to fill the silence herself. It was almost easy to pretend she wasn’t there. They were close, so close he almost craved the moment he’d leave her to go and talk to her...boss, he supposed. At least he would only have to deal with business there.<br/><br/>“- <em> I didn’t catch your name? </em>” The question broke through the silence Peter had maintained, and he found himself answering before thinking about it.</p><p>“I didn’t offer it. Peter Lukas.” He shrugged, noticing her shoulders tighten. She wanted to know. He guessed she must deal in the research aspect of the Institute if she knew who he was.</p><p>“...I see.” She said, words trailing off into thought as they approached the doors to the Institute. Something changed in her expression, then. He could feel her interest fading, dissolving into...something colder. “You’re not here for a statement, then, I assume. I’m Gertrude Robinson.”</p><p>That sounded familiar to him. He frowned. She didn’t offer any more information, opening the door and ushering him inside. Oh. He probably should have opened that for her, but her stepping forwards to do so gave him the distinct impression of a bison being corralled in for the slaughter. All the control in her small wrinkled hand.<br/><br/>He ducked inside, scuffing his boots half-assedly on the rug in the front door. Gertrude followed him inside, squeezing to the side and shaking the water from her umbrella. She hooked it by the door, next to countless others, and then stepped forwards, to the reception desk. She started chatting cheerfully with the young woman sitting there, and handed her a wrapped sandwich from the bag tucked under her arm.<br/><br/>The woman noticed him after a moment, cheerful smile on her face. “Oh, hello. Do you have an appointment?”</p><p>Peter smiled tightly, mouth opening to reply.</p><p>“He’s here to see Elias, Rosie.” Gertrude interrupted, quite rudely. Peter took note of her use of Bouchard's first name. Perhaps he should do the same. “A Mr. Peter Lukas.”</p><p>“Oh! Mr. Lukas.” Rosie said cheerfully. Peter raised his eyebrows as she didn’t even acknowledge him getting cut off. This must be a common occurrence. “He’s expecting you, shall I-?”</p><p>“I’ll show him up, Rosie. I had a couple of questions for Elias anyway.” Gertrude interrupted again. Peter’s eyebrows lifted higher.</p><p>“How...kind. Making me really feel like a part of the team.” He said, beginning to walk by the two women. Gertrude leaned down and said something to Rosie, who picked up her phone, and then the former jogged after him. It took some effort, much to Peter’s amusement. He was a tall man, and she was older, with two strides for every one of his. </p><p>She surpassed him eventually, though, which was fine. He didn’t know where he was going. She turned, and he followed until they came to an office door. </p><p>“Well? Go on.” Gertrude gestured to it, impatient and a bit rude now. </p><p>Peter was glad to rid himself of her company when he knocked on the door, then entered. </p><p>Gertrude followed him in. He hated that, stepping to the side as soon as she did.<br/><br/>Gertrude went first, and Peter was left watching her attempt to bully Elias Bouchard into letting her go on some trip. It was interesting, the way they exchanged their words would have had him thinking they’d known each other for years.</p><p>He was fine with that, fine to linger in the back, ignored, while they argued and bickered. He could fade away from their view like this, he realized. He technically came to the meeting, it’s not his fault Elias was busy. He could fade away, if only-</p><p>If only Elias stopped <em> looking </em> at him. He’d be talking with Gertrude, yes, but his eyes were boring into Peter. As if he knew he’d try to leave if given the chance. He shifted under the gaze, own eyes fixed firmly out the window. </p><p>By the time Gertrude had wrangled what she wanted out of Elias, Peter had decided he <em> hated </em>the Beholding. He hated the gaze that pinned him down, that seemed to stare right through him. <em>Notice</em> him. Gertrude seemed to deduce the interest was barely on her, unsurprisingly. Elias wasn't exactly being subtle about his staring.</p><p>He hated when both sets of eyes turned to him, each with their own intent behind it. It made him feel like a chess piece, and he couldn't figure out which of the two wanted to sacrifice him for their <em>king</em> more. Gertrude said goodbye to him, and he loathed the look behind her eyes. Disdain, as if he had come into her home and changed everything around. Become a nuisance. He didn't think they'd be meeting again anytime soon, if he had anything to do with it.</p><p>The meeting with Elias didn’t help his mood. It was minor, all of it. Small things that could easily have been done from afar. And Elias knew that, Peter could tell. He sat there, eyes boring into him, small smile on his handsome face, through the entire thing. </p><p>He’d focused on that smile, instead of the intense hazel eyes that sat above it. A small compromise for the societal expectation that he’d look at someone’s face while talking to him. </p><p>He just wished he hadn’t found the ordeal as...tolerable that way. Elias had good bone structure, and he was handsome enough that looking at him didn’t bother Peter <em>that</em> much. </p><p>The thought was infuriating in its own right, and it was worse when Elias paused. Peter knew something was coming by how he looked at him. And then he said, “You have freckles, did you know that? They’re lovely.” ...And continued speaking like he’d said nothing.</p><p>He didn’t understand the warm feeling across his cheeks, but he understood the cold rage underneath it. How dare he talk to him about something like that? Make <em> small talk </em>. <em>Compliments</em>. Peter was better than that, everyone who followed the Forsaken was <em>better</em> than that. He spent the rest of the meeting fuming and nursing the strange warmness he felt. Like a candle, he wanted to keep it going. But also like a candle, he feared it getting too close to him. To his heart. Better to attempt to blow it out.</p><p>The whole affair didn’t even take an hour, much to Peter’s increased annoyance. It was a tremendous waste of his time. Elias offered a late lunch. Peter firmly declined. And he marched out of the building before the hour was over. </p><p>He’d bought a phone before returning to the Tundra. A small, annoying little thing that he couldn’t figure out how to mute. Not that he gave the number to anyone, and the few spam callers he got wouldn’t be bothering him again. </p><p>It rang within a week on the Tundra, and Peter had to listen to Elias’ smooth, controlled voice go over the budgets again. He’d never given him his number, never retrieved the piece of paper on top of the package that thrummed for him to open it. </p><p>He didn’t trust himself not to by this point. If he got too close to the closet. There was only so long one could deny themselves without the need to rip it open tearing through their thoughts.</p><p>It thrummed to him at night, and he always dreamt of deep waters. Cold and dark. Sometimes, something was following him, and he knew he couldn’t escape it for long.</p><p>--</p><p>He’d spent about two years fielding these occasional calls. It became almost a habit, after a month or two, to hear that annoyingly cheerful cellphone ring. He’d retrieve it from its home, plugged into an outlet by the closet, and listen to Elias’ smooth, smug, voice go over things he didn’t actually <em> care </em> about. </p><p>It proved almost worth it, actually, when Peter had gone ashore for a funeral, phone tucked in his pocket begrudgingly while he sat in the back of a train. </p><p>The phone had rung barely an hour into the ride, and he’d answered it with some annoyance. The number still wasn’t saved under any name, but it didn’t have to be.</p><p>“Elias.”</p><p>“Hello, Peter. How’s the train ride?” He was always doing that. Trying to initiate small talk before getting to his point. And also prove he <em> knew </em>where he was. Peter didn’t have the patience for it. </p><p>“Fine.” He said shortly, knowing better than to offer any detail of information. He’d done it once early on, and Elias had managed to wring a full conversation out of pointed questions before he realized what he’d been doing. </p><p>There was a long pause, and then a sigh. Peter smiled. Sometimes, it’s the little victories. </p><p>“What are you calling about?” He pressed. </p><p>“I wondered if you could use...Well. A snack.” There was intent behind the final word that Peter couldn’t quite place. </p><p>His eyebrows drew together. “A snack.”</p><p>“<em>Yes. </em>” Elias responded. “This is part of our arrangement, you know.”</p><p>“Spit it out, Elias. I’m not in the mood.”</p><p>“Very well.” He continued, unbothered. “If you look to your left and a few rows up, you will find an elderly man. He has no one left to him but a daughter who finds him a burden.” </p><p>Peter did indeed look to his left, half expecting something to jump out at him. But, no. There he was, and as he considered him, and the loneliness he hadn’t taken the time to notice, Elias continued. </p><p>“He could easily be pursued for your god.” </p><p>“And this is part of the arrangement? Helping.” He shifted the phone, gaze turning away. “...Feed?”</p><p>“Quite.” Elias sounded amused. “Nathaniel really neglected to tell you anything.”</p><p>Peter snapped the phone shut, not wanting to hear anything manipulative. He considered the old man, and he moved over to sit by him with a small smile that he knew bordered on <em>sweet</em>. “Would you like some company?”</p><p>--</p><p>The funeral was an awful affair, they always were. It was full of faces he vaguely knew, but never so much to recognize, and blessed silence. The silence was the best part of it, broken only by the bare minimum sounds of ceremony and burial. He’d stood near a woman this time, having been near Nathaniel for the past two. That familiarity wouldn’t do, so he’d picked another. No one he knew, of course. He didn’t even know how closely related she was to him, but she had the Lukas looks. Tall, thin, and fair. He didn't look close enough to see if she sported the same freckles as himself. Or the whitening that the stress of the Lonely tore through their hair. His eyes were too concerned with the horizon, the bit of sky that bled through the fog today. It was yellow and orange, burning through the white fog that tried to swallow it. The Lukases stood in un-companionable silence as a cousin, whose name Peter had already forgotten, was lowered to the earth.</p><p>He was thrumming with energy from the Lonely on the train ride back. It revitalized him, to go home. Ironically enough. He’s sure it could be attributed to the funerals more than anything else. A final ritual of Lonely solidarity for someone who had fed their god their entire life. It made him feel closer to the Lonely. Made it thrum with appreciation as the person was lowered into the ground and then forgotten forever. </p><p>If the train back lost more passengers than normal, well. That was hardly Peter’s problem.</p><p>When he arrived back at the Tundra, there was a figure waiting for him on the deck. It was dark, and the silhouette was hard to make out. He felt a sucker punch somewhere deep in his soul as he got close enough to perceive it. Elias Bouchard. There was paper by his feet, a package ripped open that tore side to side in the wind. And a dark gray skin, longer than Peter remembered it, was nestled in his arms. Like he was cradling a baby. It was big enough to envelop Peter entirely, and Elias held it loose enough that one end just barely touched the ground. He seemed to be looking down at it, examining it closely. He didn't look up as Peter walked up the cargo ramp.<br/><br/>Peter was surging forwards when Elias’ gaze lifted to him. And Peter’s feet stopped, that sucker punch feeling dragging deep from his chest down into the pit of his stomach. </p><p>Elias smiled at that, a small, cruel thing. His eyes were sharp, and he shrugged his arms, coat shifting in them. When it moved, Peter felt a bit dizzy. He put a hand on the railing, steadying himself. Elias’ smile widened, clearly taking in the slight stumble. His words were measured when he spoke.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Peter. You’ve been careless with this.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>wow, two months went by at an absolute blink! here's the next chapter, I'm still very firmly stuck on this ship.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Give it back.” Peter found himself saying before he could even steady himself.</p><p>“No. I found it, it’s mine now.”</p><p>“...It’s not even mine.” He tried.</p><p>“Oh, I highly doubt that.” Elias said, smug smirk still there. “Your name was on the package. From Nathaniel, no less.”</p><p>Peter stared at it, in his hands. Was the tight grip, fingers digging deep into the skin, his imagination? Because he could almost feel those fingers on him. The colors shifted, and he was a child again, stroking it in his lap. His palms itched, wanting to reach for it. ...And he pulled himself under control. He hated the thought that such a thing had so much control over him. His voice turned cold, and he looked to Elias’ face instead of the coat. “Fine. Take it.”</p><p>Elias’ eyebrows shot up at that. “Take it? That’s it?”</p><p>“Take it! It’s just a coat.” Peter said stubbornly. What did it matter to him if it wasn’t close? “Possessions mean nothing to me.” That almost hurt to say, and he had to spit those words out.</p><p>Elias laughed. Peter shrunk from that, awkward smile echoing as Elias began to speak again. He fought the nervous smile down. He didn’t deserve it, instinctual habit or not. “Oh, it is just a coat, isn’t it? And no, I’m sure they don’t. Thank you. I’ll take good care of it.”</p><p>Peter let Elias walk by him, then, reaching a hand out for it before he could help himself. Elias paused. “Are you sure?”</p><p>The question was sharp, and Peter had the distinct feeling Elias knew something he didn’t know. And that it was amusing him immensely. Peter tore his hand back, determined not to ask about it. It’s what Elias would want from him. What any follower of the Eye wants. To tell you something terrible you’d rather not hear. And, though he felt deep in his chest that he shouldn’t, that he should try very hard to get it back, his voice instead took on the usual cheerful note. “Quite sure!”</p><p>There were a few seconds of silence, interrupted only by the gentle sound of water hitting the hull of the Tundra.</p><p>“Well. Goodbye, then, Peter. Don’t forget our meeting next week.” And that was it. Elias stepped off the ship and Peter was left there, shaking from the shrieking feeling deep in his chest. He didn’t know how long he stood there, feeling every tug of the coat as it got further and further away. His eyes were screwed shut and as the tide came in, rocking the Tundra gently, he felt each wave like a drop in his stomach.</p><p>That continued for a bit, his stomach and his chest in a tug of war of unpleasant movement. He’d never been one to get seasick. But perhaps this was contributing more than he thought.</p><p>When he opened his eyes, it was dark. He made his way to his cabin, and scowled at the sight. Elias had <em>tidied</em> it. Further investigation bubbled up that rage, tempestous and borderline childish. The pile in his closet was, obviously, gone. His boots were lined up neatly on the floor instead. The phone and the paper containing his number was moved to his side table. Under the number was scrawled a new message: “Call me.” Peter scrunched it up and tossed it away.</p><p>But there was an itch as he did so. An itch to grab that phone and call Elias. He ignored it, climbed onto his bed, and went to sleep. His dreams were worse. The being was closer than ever, and now it curled a hand around him. Possessively.</p><p>He had a headache, a missed call, and a quiet knock on his door when he woke.</p><p>The movement to get to his door was shaky, and he had to lean against the frame as he opened it. It was his first mate, Tadeas. Or so he called him. He knew that wasn’t his real name. The bearded man, shorter and darker than Peter, fixed his captain with eyes that screamed concern. But, thankfully, Peter chose him for a reason. And that reason was he stayed out of Peter’s affairs. He sent Tadeas away with orders to ship out. After he’d gone, he’d thrown up for the first time since he was a child, and he went back to bed.</p><p>This cycle continued, wake up by the end of a phone ringing, throw up, go back to bed, nightmare. By the fourth time, bent over a toilet and dry heaving, Peter was relieved to realize there was nothing left in his stomach to vomit back up. He glanced at his side-table. He fought to focus, and his vision cleared after a moment. He didn’t think too hard about it, but perhaps he was allowed to see it because of the name he knew was there. The little screen gave him a double digit number next to the name ‘Elias’. He scowled, and endeavored to not listen to any of the voicemails. Even if they reached thirty. That would show the infuriating man.</p><p>That lasted him another hour, before the paranoia began to sink in. Had Elias done this to him? Maybe he had burned the coat, or otherwise harmed it. Maybe he was causing this sickness. He glanced at the side-table again after a particularly violent wave set him retching again, and the phone began to ring. That made him suddenly very certain this was all his fault.</p><p>Peter snatched it up with an anger he didn’t know he had in him, not even greeting Elias as he answered it. “Elias." He snarled, his voice hoarse and scratchy. "What did you do.”</p><p>There was a pause. “Hello, my dear.”</p><p>Peter recoiled from the endearment like it slapped him. Which, considering his family history, the slap would have been more welcome. If it was any other time, the call would have ended then and there, the need to cleanse himself of contact. Of affection. It would be too strong. But, now. This seemed more of a problem, he could fight through a bit longer. “Don’t call me that. What did you <em>do</em>?”</p><p>“Nothing you didn’t give me permission to.”</p><p>“That’s a lie.” Peter said flatly. “I didn’t give you permission to do anything.”</p><p>He could feel the smirk before he heard it, making Elias’ voice drip with a smugness that made his skin crawl. “You let me have your pelt, Peter. You told me to take it. That’s permission.”</p><p>“The coat.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“You taking the coat is making me sick? It’s just a coat.”</p><p>There was a sigh. “...You’re making me feel guilty.” Doubtful, and the smug laugh proved Peter right moments later. “You don’t know anything.”</p><p>Peter knew that was an insult. And that there wasn’t a drop of actual sympathy in that voice. He gripped his phone tightly. “The curse.”</p><p>“Yes. Mordechai’s curse." Another pause. "You’ll have to come back to London, Peter.”</p><p>For the first time, he actually craved what Elias is saying. Land. Solid land. Beneath his feet. The rocking would finally stop. The thought alone almost makes the queasiness go away. “No!”</p><p>“You’ll just get more sick if you don’t listen to me. Selkies aren’t meant to go to sea without their coats. ...And they’re not meant to be separate from those who have them.”</p><p>“Then give it back!”</p><p>“If you want to ask for it, my dear. You’ll have to do it in person.”</p><p>Peter knew what was coming, he could hear the dismissal in Elias’ voice and the urge to do what that infuriating man was about to first overcame him. Peter hung up. A small victory, but he could feel the unpleasant, borderline painful, prickle of something on the back of his neck after. As if a hand was curled into the back of his neck, nails digging in.</p><p>But, Elias was right. By the time they reached the next port, Peter was so sick he could barely move. Tadeas had to help him get to shore, looking anywhere but at his sick captain. It was strange. As soon as Peter’s feet hit solid ground, past the deck and onto earth, he felt alright. He turned back around, lifting a foot back onto the deck. He was sick before reaching the Tundra. Tadeas rushed back down with his bag, his phone. It barely touched Peter’s hand before it began to ring. His first mate snatched his hand back, a strange look in his eyes, and nodded.</p><p>“I’ll take care of the ship until you return.”</p><p>Peter smiled in his vague direction, before he quickly walked off. He sat on the edge of the deck, petulant, now. He fought back a wave of nausea and he answered his phone.</p><p>“Hello, Elias! I am not coming back to London. Merely a-” He fought back another wave, and Elias neatly cut in.</p><p>“Don’t be a child. I’ve sent a car for you. Fly here. And don’t hang up on me again.”</p><p>Peter recognized a threat when he heard one, and he made a face, but...</p><p>...he couldn’t move to do it this time, even after Elias hung up. His grip tightened on the phone, trying to lower it, but a painful tug in his chest stopped him. he could feel the weight of someone watching him, gaging his reaction. He tried not to give one. He sat there, with the phone to his ear, until it rang again.</p><p>“Elias.” It’s strained, lower. A threat of his own.</p><p>“Get off the deck, it’s there.” Peter’s eyes raised, seeing a simple black car. He waited. “You can put the phone away-”</p><p>Peter did so immediately, sliding it into his pocket and stumbling off the deck. He threw his bag into the backseat and sat, feeling instantly better again. The car began to drive away, and he took one last glance at the sea. Longingly. Sickly. He looked away before the feeling became too great.</p><p>Perhaps he would have looked longer if he had known he wouldn’t see it again in years. But he didn’t Know. Only Elias did.</p><p>--</p><p>He’d barely retrieved his bag in Heathrow before Elias was calling him again. Peter considered ignoring it. He’s probably here to pick him up. He could just...make him have to drive home alone. He’d be furious, losing a little of that tight control he always needed over others. The satisfaction at that thought was overwhelmingly positive and Peter decided that, yes, Elias could wait to see him until he was damn well ready.</p><p>He called a taxi and gave directions to a hotel. A building he knew his family owned. He ignored the next phone call, smug that it didn’t harm him to do so. He could feel the eyes on him, and for once, he liked it. It meant he had some sort of little victory. And he was oh so competitive.</p><p>When he stepped out of the taxi, though, bag in tow, his smile faded and he couldn’t quite hide the disappointment from his voice. “Oh. It’s you.”</p><p>Elias did not look happy, standing with a hand on his passenger door. It was open. “Yes, Peter. It’s me. You’ve made my day more inconvenient, congratulations. Am I going to have to force you to get into my car?”</p><p>Peter sighed. Of course he was here. He put his hands into his pockets, sliding into the seat. “No.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>The door was shut behind him, and Elias crossed back over to the driver’s side. It didn’t go unnoticed by Peter when he locked the door. He rolled his eyes.</p><p>“I’m not going to jump out of your car, Elias. I’m not an idiot! I’m only here for the coat.”</p><p>That seemed to crack a bit of the furious look on Elias’ face. It bordered briefly on amusement. Peter wasn't sure if it was for the coat, or for the claimed lack of idiocy. Perhaps both. “Yes, well. About that. I’ve been thinking about it. And I think I’m going to keep it.</p><p>Peter frowned. His fingers curled into fists in his pockets. “Are you, now?”</p><p>“Yes.” He was given a side eye. To see if he’s paying attention, he presumed. Peter’s eyes went out the window instead. That didn’t seem to bother Elias, who continued, unbothered. “I’ve done quite a bit of research.”</p><p>“Have you.” Peter’s voice was flat, trying to sound as uninterested as possible. “And?”</p><p>“You should really pay attention, Peter. It’s very important to you specifically.” Elias stuck a free hand in his pocket, then, holding it out to him. Peter took it before he even focused on it. It was cold. Metal. He looked down at it. A ring. There was an engraving all around it. Waves, it looked like. Peter rolled it over in his palm.</p><p>“...What.”</p><p>“A truly eloquent reply, Peter. Put it on.”</p><p>“...You’re very kind.” He mused, with absolutely no inflection. A strange gift. One with usually...quite uncomfortably intimate connotations. It’d be rude not to try it on. Peter tried to slip it over his pointer finger. It didn’t fit, and he held it out to Elias again. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t fit! Besides! I don’t really like jewelry.”</p><p>Elias pulled to a stop, calmly parking the car. Peter left his hand where it was, holding it back out to him. Elias took the ring, and when Peter attempted to draw back, he seized Peter’s left wrist, turning it towards him. He slipped the ring over Peter’s ring finger. “Peter, if you don’t start picking up the hints I’m dropping, this will be a very unpleasant marriage indeed.”</p><p>Peter did shrink back, that time, shock rippling through him. He saw a satisfied look glimmering in Elias’ eyes. Of course he had planned to drop something like this. Of course. That nervous smile was back, and he pulled the hand close to himself as if the ring was burning him. And, considering the attachment level a marriage contained. It may as well have been. “...That’s a new one. When did we get married?”</p><p>Elias smiled. “You gave me your coat. That makes you my husband. Or, as most of the stories went, my wife, really. But let’s go with husband, shall we?”</p><p>“I’m not a woman, Elias.”</p><p>“No.” Elias opened his car door, stepping outside. “And that suits me just fine. Now.” He gestured a hand behind himself, to the building there. “Get in our house, darling.”</p><p>Peter flinched at the endearment, then looked up at the house in front of them. Their house? No. This isn’t a marriage. He can’t make him believe that. He shook his head. “No! I came to get the coat back. I’m not your husband! I’m not going into your house.”</p><p>“Yes, you are, Peter. Would you like to call someone to confirm? Perhaps Nathaniel would do?” A pause. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you before now. How reckless of him.”</p><p>...Oh. Peter could feel his face heating up slightly. The book. He knew it was the book. He was a child. Of course he didn’t pay attention. But that didn’t mean he could ask any of his family for help. The Lukases have never worked that way. Nathaniel wouldn’t offer it if he went to him, and every insisted mention by Elias was a taunt of that fact. “...That won’t be necessary.”</p><p>A sharp smile. “Good. Now, if you’re quite done?” The driver’s side door snapped shut.</p><p>Peter looked at him through the window, then sighed and opened his own door. He followed, purposefully slow, bag slung over his shoulder.</p><p>Elias opened the door, then turned around right inside the threshold. Waiting. For something awful, Peter was sure. Peter looked down at the wood frame, face twisting up in displeasure. And then he stepped over it.</p><p>Nothing immediately mystical happened. He didn’t feel a jolt in his chest, or that familiar nausea. What he did feel, however, was a hand bunching in the front of his shirt, yanking him down to be nose to nose with Elias. He jerked in the grip, surprised. Was he about to be hit? Elias had a look of concentration in his eyes, and Peter could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. Making a decision.</p><p>“Elias, I-”</p><p>The rest of his words were cut off, as he was suddenly kissed. While the door was still open, everything else to boot.</p><p>Peter had seen others kiss before. But he’d never felt much desire to do so himself. The sensation was...odd. It was warm, and as he took a sharp breath in, it was wet. But it wasn’t...unpleasant. Aside from how close it brought him to another person, it felt. Fine. Nice, even. Elias’ eyes, those horrible pinning eyes, were closed. Peter echoed the action. It was easier to enjoy when he shut his eyes. Easier to ignore the participation of another party.</p><p>Was he supposed to move? Kiss back? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if Elias wanted him to. Did he want him to react? Either in a good way or a bad way? Probably. So, he just stood there while Elias kissed him. Still as a rock. Elias didn’t seem to mind, he just pressed in a few seconds longer, pulling at Peter’s bottom lip with his teeth as he drew back.</p><p>Peter opened his eyes, then averted them as hazel ones bored into his own.</p><p>Elias reached his free hand up, patting him on the cheek. The warm metal of a ring was there. Quite probably the twin of Peter’s. Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, still not sure how to respond. “It’s traditional, Peter. Carrying seemed out of the question, but now the home is truly ours.”</p><p>“We can work on your kissing another time. Now. Let’s neither of us leave, shall we?” Peter’s shirt was released, and Elias walked away from him, down the hall, up the stairs. And he was gone. Peter was left standing there, feeling a variety of alien emotions he would have to spend days untangling. He turned, raising a foot to step back out the door. The nausea returned, worse than it’s ever been before, and he placed it back down inside, hand on the door frame to steady himself.</p><p>He looked out on the gray stone streets of London, the few people around milling about their business. He wanted to go out there. To disappear and pretend he wasn’t in a mockery of the happy family homes he’d watched over the years. He couldn’t take another step. He tried to concentrate on the Lonely. His beloved god of indifference. His escape. He tugged on the edges of the fog, hearing the beginning signs of waves crashing to shore. But he could go no further. His hand tightened on the wood of the door to an almost painful degree. It creaked from the effort.</p><p>That absolute bastard. He’d effectively trapped him, with no method of leaving. No method of even figuring his own situation out.</p><p>Peter suspected trying to throw his husband into the Lonely wouldn’t work, either.</p><p>He let go, backing up and grabbing the handle of the door. It shut, and the lovely finished mahogany might as well have been bars on a prison door.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter got a bit away from me, i'll admit (as did the time, oops) thank you for all of the reviews! i don't know if i would have kept going without them, i really appreciate it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To Peter’s surprise, Elias left him alone for the most part. He had an Institute to run. The few actual encounters he had the first week involved the ring. He’d taken it off a few times, and Elias would either call him from work, or his voice would carry through the house to <em> put it back on. </em>He’d laughed at him, the first time. </p><p>“You can’t be serious. It’s a ring.” </p><p>“And I want you to <em> leave it on </em>.” </p><p>Peter’s lips had curled back, but the familiar feeling of sickness had overcome him. Sea-sickness in all but the water beneath his feet. ...He’d started to get used to it, unfortunately. Both the ring and the sickness. He slid it back onto his finger each time he was asked. The metal was never really <em> warm </em>, but neither was Peter. It matched him, unfortunately.</p><p>Peter moved fairly silently. If he heard Elias approaching, he’d move to a different room. So far, at least, Elias hadn’t pursued him further. Peter wondered how long that could last. For all his intelligence, Elias’ patience regarding <em> his </em>actions seemed fairly low. </p><p>Peter couldn’t leave the house, but he did wander around it, and he memorized every corner of it. There was a sitting room, a kitchen (Elias stocked it, but didn't seem to be able to cook very well), a dining room, a basement, a study/library, two balconies, and three bedrooms. The last he found vastly excessive, and he thus rotated between sleeping in the two of them that were not occupied. He never went close to Elias’ bedroom. He also avoided the rooms that were clearly used the most, aside from the initial search he did for the coat. He could feel it here. It was somewhere in this house, and it called to him. But he couldn’t find it. A part of him realized it was probably in that bedroom. But he was concerned about what could happen if he went in there on his own.</p><p>He gravitated towards the too-fancy sitting room and the back balcony most of the time. He could practically smell the lack of personal guests in this room. It delighted him to know he might be the first to sit in one of the stiff, decorative, chairs in years. The sitting room was well decorated, with old and fine looking furniture, a piano, a grand looking grandfather clock, and his least favorite part of the decoration. Portraits of old men. He’d never been too fond of paintings, especially of people. And this set carried no exception.</p><p>He had a lot of time to think, sift through the emotions of...how he had got here. Why he was here. His brain became an entanglement of suspicion, desperately trying to figure out what Elias could possibly be gaining from this. Money, he’s sure. Connections? Maybe, but connections weren’t something his family excelled at. Nathaniel and a few other family members had sent him rather stiff congratulations on his marriage. Peter hadn’t replied to them, but he was relieved to find the congratulations themselves resembled a form letter Peter sent out to any relatives who marry. Impersonal. He’d want it no other way. </p><p>He received a letter from his sister, as well. Familiar, crawling script across the envelope. That one remained unopened. As all letters from Judith did.</p><p>So, connections wouldn't get him too far through Peter. Perhaps it was control? </p><p>As he puzzled through reasoning, his mind drifted to the memory of the kiss. It still confused him, a little. But, if it was Stockholm Syndrome Elias was fishing for, he wouldn’t get it with Peter. He was determined of that. ...That didn’t mean he didn’t think about the relative softness of it. Shocking, honestly, for such a monstrous man. He rubbed a thumb across his bottom lip, thinking about the way his teeth had dug in, and wondered if all kisses felt like that. Overwhelming. Pleasant? Maybe, but he’d have to- He dug his nail in when he started thinking of trying it again. No. Absolutely not.</p><p>And he saw movement. He looked up at one of the portraits in the room. It gave off the distinct feeling of being...occupied. He stood up, suddenly, hand dropping as he gained a sneaking suspicion. And then he looked at the other portraits in the room. Same feeling. He frowned, crossing over to the first one. He lifted it off its hook, turned it around, and leaned it against the wall. He repeated the process with all of them, until there was a light knock on the doorframe. He held the last portrait in his hands, and glanced over for a split second. He didn’t need to, no one else was here. </p><p>“Elias.” </p><p>“Peter.” He greeted, leaning against the wood. “Would you be so kind as to put Mr. Von Closen back where he belongs?” </p><p>“Who?” Peter asked, innocently. Elias sighed, crossing the room to take the portrait from Peter’s hands. Peter is careful he doesn't touch him, and Elias looks unamused by that care.</p><p>“I’ve been relatively patient with you, Peter. I’ve given you time to pout. Almost a week to do so. The only thing I ask of you is don’t touch my things and don’t make a <em> mess. </em>”</p><p>“Then don’t use your <em> things </em> to watch me!” </p><p>“I’m afraid I can’t promise you that.” Elias placed the portrait back where it belonged, then straightened it until it was to his satisfaction. Peter watched, silently happy at the effort. It was satisfying to be a bother to your captor.</p><p>“Clearly we’ll be incompatible, then!” Peter said, quite cheerfully. “Because I won’t just sit there and be watched. If you’ll give me back the coat, I can just-”</p><p>“And what did I just say about my things?” Elias interrupted smoothly. He brushed by Peter. Peter took a step out of his way instinctively. And then he paused.</p><p>“You’re not serious. It’s not yours.” </p><p>“Yes, it is. You gave it to me.” Elias said flatly, methodically replacing the rest of the portraits to their proper places. “I don’t like people touching my things. Especially not gifts.”</p><p>Peter felt himself bristle at that. It was <em> his, </em>no matter how he treated it before. He knew he was tricked. He wasn’t an idiot. He’ll find it, and then he’ll be able to leave and fall into the Lonely for weeks. Despite these thoughts, he kept his tone light, cheery. “Of course. I’ll leave you to it, then.” </p><p>“So soon? Peter, I would have thought you’d have more to say to me.” </p><p>Peter paused in the doorway. “I don’t!” His tone was slightly strained, now, irritation at his situation seeping through. Elias smiled to him. </p><p>“Pity. I was going to see if you wanted to go to dinner.” </p><p>Peter gave him a blank stare. A few seconds of one. He should have just walked away. Removed himself from this situation. Instead, he hesitated, curiosity getting the better of him. “Dinner?”</p><p>“Yes, there’s quite a nice place I’ve been wanting to try.” </p><p>“Outside?” </p><p>“Well. The restaurant is indoors, but yes, not in the house.”</p><p>“...Why?” </p><p>“My, Peter. Are you sure you serve the Lonely? Three questions in a row.”</p><p>“Why, Elias.” Peter said more firmly, taking the question out of his tone. Elias looked amused. </p><p>“Because I want to. I could always go alone if you’d rather stay inside. However, I’d much rather you come with me.” </p><p>Peter weighed his options. On the one hand, getting to leave this place, where the walls seemed to close in tighter everyday and drive him closer to Elias. But it’s at least not too bad here. On the other hand, going on what sounded suspiciously like a date with the person he’s trying so hard to avoid. But it’d be outside. “...No, thank you.”</p><p>“Ah, alright. I see that you’re <em>quite</em> busy.” If Elias was disappointed, he didn’t show it. But the sarcasm didn't need disappointment to come through. “Perhaps tomorrow? I’ll follow up then. As you know, there’s plenty of food in the fridge for you until you’re ready.” </p><p>Peter was shaking his head before he was even close to finishing. He didn’t want this to become a habit. He didn’t want to have to talk to him <em> every day </em>. “Don’t follow up. Don't ask again! The answer will be the same every time.” </p><p>A glimmer in Elias’ eye. “Will it? Are you sure? </p><p>“<em>Yes</em>, I’m sure!” </p><p>“How certain? It gets quite boring in here, Peter. Especially for someone who never reads.” </p><p>“Tomorrow will be the same answer. The day after will be the same, and so on.” Peter promised.</p><p>“<em>Right. </em>Well, I’m willing to bet by the fourth day you’ll accompany me.” </p><p>“...Bet?” Against his better judgement, Peter could feel himself being pulled into that. He had always reserved a fondness for wagers. “And what will I win?” </p><p>“Oh, are we assigning stakes? I suppose...I could let you go for some walks if you win.” </p><p>“Alone.” Peter supplied, trying not to think too hard about the implications of being <em> let </em> to do anything. Like a dog. </p><p>“Yes, but you’ll come back. Every time.” </p><p>Peter rolled his eyes. He <em> would </em> just have to fit that in. “Yes! I’m sure I don’t have a choice. And what will you get?”</p><p>Elias smiled, like he was waiting for that question. Like he was casting a line out and Peter was dumb enough to bite. “A kiss. From you.” </p><p>Peter stiffened, then sighed, exasperated. “You already got one!” </p><p>“No, Peter. I want <em> you </em> to kiss <em> me. </em>” Amused, again.</p><p>He should have said no. Immediately. No consideration, no hesitation. Unfortunately, he felt the latter. As he struggled to come up with an answer, he could see Elias’ grin get wider, and the bastard took a step forwards. </p><p>“Of course, if you’d <em> rather, </em>we could kiss now.”</p><p>A click. Inaction switched to action as Peter realized this was something Elias <em> wanted </em> from him. Something he might be able to use. He could see it in his expression, almost feel the emotion behind it. “No, what will you miss when you lose?”</p><p>Get out, now. He could see something processing on Elias’ face. Best to get some distance. Peter backed fully out of the sitting room, relying on the past behavior of letting him go. “I’ll see you tomorrow-” </p><p>Elias followed, and Peter almost lost his footing. <em> This </em>must have been what he was waiting for. That false sense of security. And a reason to get rid of it. He turned, heading to a different room. Elias followed him. </p><p>“...I said, I’ll talk to you tomorrow!” He repeated, tone taking on a bit of an edge. Elias shrugged. </p><p>“I don’t feel like leaving you just yet, dear.”</p><p>Peter didn’t grace that with a response. It’s only when he was about to open the door to the balcony, that he realized Elias was going to jam himself into any space Peter tried to occupy. The balcony couldn’t be more than five feet wide. His hand lowered. He went to turn around and almost bumped right into the smaller man. “...I’m going this way!”</p><p>Elias, looking still quite amused, stepped to the side. “Of course you are.” </p><p>Peter looked to the gap he left between the wall and himself. It would barely fit him. And he’d risk brushing against Elias in the process. He didn’t move, and after a moment, he spoke, voice strained. “Go away.” </p><p>“No, I don’t think I will.” A familiar feeling bubbled within Peter. That hatred, rage. It never mattered who it was, but refusing to get out of his way, to leave him to himself, sparked this emotion inside him. It never mattered who it was. A man in a bright raincoat, a mother asking him if he’s lost, this well-dressed man smiling sharply at him. The other person needed to <em> go </em> . And they needed to go <em> now. </em></p><p>“<em> Go away.” </em>He put some pressure of the Lonely behind it. Suddenly, the reservations about trying to throw Elias into the Lonely faded. It couldn’t be that bad. He could make it happen quietly. Quickly. Maybe if he could push hard enough, he could make Elias go-</p><p>The effect was immediate, pushback harsh. Elias looked at him. Really looked. And it felt like a bell chiming, reverberating through his ears, his head, his stomach. There was a high-pitched whine followed by a discomfort all around him, and Peter immediately covered his ears. This was like the coffee shop. Like the ship. But worse. A combination of the two. </p><p>“Stop!” He managed to choke out, screwing his eyes shut. It didn’t help the <em> presence </em>. It didn’t help the spinning of the world around him. He tried to push the Lonely onto Elias again. Onto himself. Nothing. It’s hard to be alone when someone’s imposing themself and their presence forcefully.</p><p>“Now, now.” He could barely hear him, but he <em> knew </em>  what he was saying. Despite the pain, despite the unpleasant feeling, Peter’s lip curled in defiance. The voice was dripping with scolding. As if to a child. Elias continued, and Peter wished he could make him <em> shut up </em>. “You started it, Peter. ...Would you like me to finish it?”</p><p>He didn’t mean stop. He meant <em> finish </em> it. Peter had no doubt he will. </p><p>“...No.” Peter gritted out. The pressure alleviates. </p><p>“Good!” Elias smiled, reaching forward to Peter. He held back a flinch as the hand cupped his face, then curled into his beard. The fingers tugged on the hairs there, sharply. “We won’t have any more of that, will we?” </p><p>Peter leaned forwards, and he knew his expression was still dark, sullen. “No! You won’t.” He purposefully didn’t say ‘we’. There was no ‘we’ here. Only Elias ad his game. </p><p>“Good boy.” The hand loosened, and a thumb ran over the edge of Peter’s sneer. “Don’t twist your expression like that, love. It’ll ruin your face.” </p><p>He stepped back, giving more room than he had originally left Peter. “Go on.”</p><p>Peter looked at him a moment. And then he went by, careful not to touch Elias. </p><p>Elias followed. </p><p>---</p><p>So, this was the plan. Torture Peter with his company until he gave in. He must have arranged for some time off, because Peter didn’t have a moment’s respite for three days.</p><p>When it came to the fourth, and final, day, he was ready to snap. So taut he could feel his muscles straining. He’d tried everything to get Peter to talk to him. Or perhaps he was only reminding him he was there. Repeatedly. </p><p>Peter, in return, was coming up with ways to ignore him. Reading didn’t work, it bored him too much. He’d even turned to the piano in an attempt to not have to listen to Elias. It’d been years since he’d played, but a classical tutored education demanded the culture of an instrument. It was a mistake to do so again. Elias had taken it as an excuse to get closer, lean over him, make soft comments on his playing. “A little slow, Peter.” </p><p>Peter stopped playing when the hand crept around his shoulder. Hot breath against his neck. “Fine! I don’t have to play.” </p><p>“You can. You’re out of practice.”</p><p>“That happens! When you don’t play for ten years!” Peter took his hands off the keys. </p><p>“Mm. Pity. Playing would help.” Elias said. When he didn’t make an attempt to back off, Peter’s hands curled into fists. </p><p>“Why?” </p><p>“Be more specific.” The side of Elias’ face pressed into Peter’s shoulder. Peter smothered a shiver. It was practically a hug. </p><p>“Why did you want to be married? Or whatever this game is.” </p><p>“Marriage isn’t a game. And does that matter, Peter? Maybe I just wanted you.” </p><p>Peter laughed. “Yes, and I want a pony! Be realistic, Elias.” </p><p>Silence. Peter let it stretch. He wasn’t going to budge. Elias sighed after a while. </p><p>“I think it’s <em> quite </em> realistic. Go to dinner with me.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“I’ll leave you alone if you do. We’ll go to dinner, and then you can go off to your room. And I won’t follow.” </p><p>Tempting. If it weren’t for the winnings of the bet, it might be even more tempting. But Peter didn’t see himself kissing this man anytime soon. No matter how handsome he was. And no matter how much Elias seemed to want to. </p><p>“And if I <em> don’t </em> go, I’ll get to go out on my own!” </p><p>Elias laughed. The shifting against Peter’s back reminded him of the position they were in. Like a constant static in the back of his brain, this continued contact was less than pleasant for him. “I did say that, didn’t I? How do you know I’ll honor my end of the bet?” </p><p>Peter drew back, turning his head to face Elias, almost nose to nose. It took a surprising bit of effort. His grip was tighter than he’d think for a man his height. He wondered if the grip was all there was to that strength, or if he was stronger than Peter, but quickly pushed that away. It didn’t matter.</p><p>He pressed his lower back to the keys to lean away, bothered briefly by the discordant notes that followed. After that sound faded, Peter smiled. </p><p>“Because! <em> I </em>will honor my end if I lose.”</p><p>“Oh, yes. About that.” Another discordant sound, higher this time, as a hand dropped to the keys beside him. Elias seemed unbothered by it, but it did bring a wince out of Peter. “I think I’d like another kiss now, Peter.” </p><p>“I’m not going to kiss you, <em> Elias. </em>” Peter said, not daring to look to the side. Instead, he stared into those hazel eyes, and hated the feeling that came with it. </p><p>He’d be lying if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind again but, well. He had to have <em> something </em> against Elias. And if that was his attraction, and his want for Peter to participate in that, he’d have to wait until Peter was willing to do so. Peter cleared his throat, leaning a bit to the side, away from the arm trapping him against the piano. </p><p>Those eyes followed, narrowing as he attempted to slip out. </p><p>“Stop. I’m considering.” </p><p>Peter made a noise of frustration, stopping. “You’ve already considered everything! What’s holding you back? My <em> feelings? </em>” He sneered. “You don’t have regard for those, so stop pretending you do!”</p><p>“A gamble.” Elias said shortly, and as soon as it was clear Peter wasn’t going to go, he leaned towards him again. </p><p>“...I’ll bite you.” Peter murmured, as a last effort. A puff of amused, hot, air breathed against his lips was the first answer to that.</p><p>“I <em> hope </em> you do.” Peter snorted. “...But I doubt it.” Elias pressed his lips to Peter’s, softly. Drew back a little. Peter didn’t move, hands curling on the bench. Elias smiled, smug. “I thought not.” </p><p>Moving the hand not caging Peter in to curl into his prematurely-whitening hair, Elias pulled their heads together again.</p><p>Peter briefly entertained the thought of reciprocation. Of wrapping his arms around Elias and pulling him in. Exploring the possibilities of kissing. He didn’t, hands tightening again on the bench, but he didn’t try to pull away either.</p><p>Elias didn’t seem to mind, once again. He just pressed forwards, knee resting between Peter’s legs as he did so. </p><p>Kissing was, again, very wet. It was warm, breath hot against his own, but cool at the same time. The hand on his hair tugged harshly, and Peter’s mouth opened, letting out a hiss. </p><p>“Wait.” He tried to say, as Elias took that opportunity to explore the inside of his mouth. And he just kept. Going. Much longer than last time. He could taste the coffee Elias had just a bit earlier, dark and bitter on his tongue as it pressed against Peter’s. It was not...unpleasant. At least, not at first. Until he felt like he couldn’t pull away. Peter felt his breath quickening in panic. He was so <em> close </em>. In his space, further into his space than anyone had ever been. It was warm. It was cold. He wanted his bubble back. </p><p>He raised a hand up, firmly onto Elias’ chest. And he pushed. Not a budge. He inhaled, deciding. </p><p>His teeth snapped shut, catching Elias’ lip between them. And then his head thumped against the piano, as Elias shoved him back, withdrawing. </p><p>Elias’ lip was bleeding, and Peter laughed, a nervous response mixed with genuine amusement. Elias lifted a couple fingers to press against it. Peter ran a tongue over his own teeth, tasting a bit of the blood there. Served him right. For assuming anything from Peter. </p><p>Elias’ look was half anger, half surprise. A ghost of something...else behind his eyes. Hurt? No, that’d be ridiculous. His shoulders were tensed, and Peter wondered briefly if he was going to hit him. </p><p>He didn’t seem the type, really. Peter stared at him quietly, waiting for his body language to relax, or for a blow of some kind. </p><p>“I’ll admit.” Elias murmured after a moment or two, shoulders relaxing as he dabbed at his lip. “I assumed something I shouldn’t have.”</p><p>Peter was already halfway to the door, and he didn’t stop until he’d locked himself in his room.</p><p>---</p><p>He’d won the bet, naturally. Once he’d escaped Elias, he found no need to leave his room. Elias might stick to his side again, and he didn’t want that. He stayed the rest of the day, and then one more for good measure, not leaving even to eat. His dreams, he noticed, had started to mellow. There was still a feeling of being trapped in the water by something, but the hands that held him no longer hurt.</p><p>During that time, spent primarily in the zone between waking and sleep, he thought. Much to his disdain, they were preoccupied primarily with the man just a few doors down from him. </p><p>It was embarrassing, really. To share the thoughts he usually kept for himself with thoughts of another man. The warmth he gave off, his smooth voice. His handsome face, probably entirely unable to grow a beard, or very particular in keeping that appearance up. Those eyes. </p><p>Peter had to remind himself of Stockholm Syndrome a few times, but that didn’t make the thoughts of Elias go away. </p><p>...Perhaps he was placing them there. Yes, Peter could see that. Reassigning the blame to him made it easier to shove anything resembling emotion aside when he heard footsteps walk by his room.</p><p>When he finally emerged, early in the morning, Elias was leaning against the wood of the doorway across from him. </p><p>“...An hour a day, Peter.” His voice was calm, smooth. Peter expected some sort of anger, but he saw none. He didn’t see any emotion at all. “Eat something, and feed your patron during that time.”</p><p>Peter looked at him. Elias looked calmly back. He wasn’t going to get a thank you, not for something he should be allowed to do anyway. </p><p>“And what happens if I don’t come back?” He pressed.</p><p>Elias smiled, cruel, sharp. “You will regret it.”</p><p>Peter didn't like that. It still activated a bit of bubbling rage inside him to have his actions controlled like this. To be treated like a possession. He kept his voice cheerful when he responded, however. </p><p>"...Noted!" Peter slipped around Elias, headed for the steps, and then the door. He didn't even care this time when he brushed against him.</p><p>Despite his anger at the concept, and the entrapment, the contact was another thing. Bearable. He was starting to get used to it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my god. this is 54 pages long now. anyway, sorry that took so long, i'm in school and well. writing hard!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter let the door close behind him and took a breath in. He didn’t stand still for long, continuing at a brisk pace in case Elias had a mind to join him. </p><p>He didn’t want to spend his time indoors, in some café that reeked of artificial warmth. No. While that would usually do, not today. He pressed on, grabbing a tea to go. He felt a sort of vindictive satisfaction when he hated it, under sugared and bitter. He’s glad to escape that comfort of Elias, making him a mug of tea whenever he made his own, leaving it <em> perfectly </em> doctored in the kitchen. Not that Peter drank it after the first few times. He knew it was a <em> display </em> of affection, mixed with that need for power over someone else. He wondered which part of it was stronger for Elias. The need to control him, or the attraction he had. Maybe both played on each other, like two chemicals, creating a larger reaction the more extreme they were. By the time he finished his tea, tossing the cardboard cup into a public bin, Peter had spent too much of his free time thinking of Elias. </p><p>He sneered to himself, before it almost unconsciously bled from his face. <em> Don’t twist your face like that, love. </em> The memory of the sentence combined with the inability to resist. ...He needed to turn the tides somehow. He needed to get an edge over Elias before he was reduced to some nothing. A pet monster. He could hook onto games at bets, but that could dig him deeper if his luck turned. He could...use the affection. </p><p>He’d considered it. Peter <em> felt </em> how Elias wanted him. Even despite the retreat at his bite. He could use that somehow.</p><p>But, now he was thinking of Elias again. He brought those thoughts to a comfortable end, wrapping himself in a harsh, numbing fog that had him forgetting almost everything but his purpose. The needs of his god, the rituals he’d been missing. He could feel the proverbial clock ticking, and he followed a business man down an alley. </p><p>When he emerged from the other side, alone, he felt the tugging in his gut. A quick glance at his watch told him why. He’d been out for almost the entire allotted time. He considered not turning around, and the resounding retch made a passing woman start. He gripped the stone of the building beside him, hand over his mouth. She gave him a wide berth, picking her pace up. Peter realized it was to avoid a potential...splash.</p><p>He glared after her. </p><p>Peter straightened, after deciding to live by his promises. (Nevermind that he <em> couldn't </em>break them, even if he wanted to.) His eyes wandered up, trying to abate the light-headedness, looking through an apartment window. A solemn little face bordered by tight braids looked back at him. Fingers were pressed to the glass, trying to get someone’s attention. For what, he didn’t know. The face broke into a cheerful smile, seeing him looking at her. The child cupped her hands, fogging up the window. She dragged her fingers through the fog, drawing a crooked little smile. It reminded him of something, and he could almost hear the voice through the glass, but with a more familiar pitch to it. Lighter braids. A second figure next to her, smaller and younger.</p><p>His blood turned to ice, thrown into an old memory.</p><p><em> “Peter!” </em>Laughter. Running feet, small and quick. A hand tugging on his own. Hauntingly painful. He was small. As small as her. Matching in appearances, except the hair he'd chopped off. Her voice echoed almost horrifyingly around the quiet halls. </p><p>They were going to be in so much trouble, Peter knew he couldn’t be there when they were found, a bubbling panic overtaking him as he felt the premonition of descending coldness on the three of them. He fell behind, and the arm tugged on his again. </p><p><em> “Come play with-” </em> Peter ripped his arm back, and ripped back from the voice of memories, drawing the Lonely around him once more. He picked up his pace. Too fast to think. Too fast to remember.<br/><br/>As it turned out, he returned to the house early, by a couple of minutes. He took a moment to gather himself, shake off the last memories of faces from childhood. He walked straight in the door, and to the kitchen.</p><p>He felt the eyes from the table follow him, making him more solid as they did, as he raided the cupboards for a snack. But, of course. Elias didn’t <em> snack. </em> He barely kept anything that would qualify. His cooking was passable, but it didn’t go farther past simple meals. Repeated ones. Healthy ones. Peter supposed it was to keep up his physique. Elias had broad shoulders, and he clearly had some muscle underneath the suits, if his strength was anything to go by. </p><p>Peter, on the other hand, was tall. He was not as muscular, and he liked to cook. Moreover, he liked things to taste good. Hiring someone to cook for him meant having someone he had to <em> speak </em> with to ask for meals. That had never appealed to him, and even the written instructions to the cook on the Tundra were too much for him. So, he’d learned to cook. Since he’d been trapped here, he’d snuck making very few things himself. Only when he was certain Elias wouldn’t catch him. He could just see that going south, either criticizing what he’d made, inching closer to show him how to do it properly, or even worse, loving it. Asking him to do it again. Peter would rather eat Elias’ bland cooking and too-healthy meals than become the relegated cook of the house. So, since he was in Elias’ presence, and would much rather cook himself a nice breakfast, he instead reluctantly took an apple and began to slice it.</p><p>There was a snort from the table. Peter ignored it, knowing it had something to do with his choice to slice it like a child, and began to eat the apple slices. He spared a glance about halfway through the apple, hoping not to meet the gaze of Elias. To his luck, Elias was reading something, glasses low on his nose and coffee cup cradled close to his body. There was a coat draped behind him, and he was neatly dressed. Peter glanced at the clock. It was a little past eight. Peter was rarely out of his room this early, so he wasn’t certain, but it seemed as though Elias was preparing to go back to work. He tilted his head, wondering if he should ask.</p><p>“Stop thinking so loud.” Elias murmured into his drink, putting the book down and fixing him with a blank look. “If you want to ask something, ask. Spare me the headache of pulling it from you.”</p><p>“...” He’s not going to waste his questions on something so trivial. “Why do I have to stay here, when you leave?” Peter said carefully. It struck him that this was one of the first conversations he’d started of his own accord. Chipping away at the wall he’d built up these few weeks.</p><p>“Oh? Do you miss me?” A quirk in Elias’ lips. The shift showed off scabbing on the inside, just past his teeth. Peter smiled back, but only at the latter revelation. He was glad it hurt. Elias continued. “I thought you enjoyed being alone.” </p><p>“I don’t want to stay in <em> your </em> house all day.” He ignored the taunt. There was always a difference between being alone and being trapped. Between purposeful isolation, and intentional semi-isolation meant to bring two people together. He can’t fade to the Lonely, and everything here reminded him of Elias.</p><p>“Our.” Elias said quietly. He took a sip. “Our house. Bored of your walks already? Spoiled. You’ve only had the one.”<br/><br/>He rose, passing by Peter to refill his mug. Instead of sitting back down, he turned to him, leaning against the counter. “You’re free to come to work with me, Peter. And then, if you can prove to me that you can be <em> trusted </em>, we can talk.”</p><p>It was a trick, clearly. Or a way to embarrass him further. Peter shouldn’t listen. ...But. Going to the Institute didn’t seem too bad. He could probably work on some things, plans he had thought of. Contact details, architecture, and contracts. It was going to be wonderful, if he ever got around to it. He visibly cheered at the idea. “Fine! But if I do well, you’ll let me do what I want while you’re at work.”</p><p>Elias was eyeing him, seemingly considering something, and then his eyes dropped to his watch. “Give me something I want, I don’t do blind favors. You have 2 minutes to convince me.”</p><p>“If you love something, you should set it free?” Peter tried, laughing.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“...Dinner?” Peter offered after a moment. Elias’ smile quirked up further. Oh. Bingo.</p><p>“Go on.” </p><p>“A <em> nice </em> dinner, at a <em> nice </em> restaurant. That I’ll pay for?” </p><p>“You’ll dress up nicely, and you’ll be on your <em> best </em>behavior?” </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Make it weekly.” </p><p>Peter shivered at the thought, and narrowed his eyes. “No.” </p><p>Elias’ interest waned, and he glanced at his watch again. “Mm. Thirty seconds.” </p><p>“Bi-Weekly.” Peter caved.</p><p>Pursed lips, a consideration. “Fine. Dinner <em> at least </em>every other week, for the foreseeable future. And you can have all of London while I’m at work. Now, we really should-” Elias tried to step around Peter. Peter put a hand on his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was the shock of the movement or the touch that made Elias stop, but he did. Elias looked tense, as if he was unsure of Peter’s thoughts.</p><p>Peter took notice of that wariness. Good. He was still a scary man, and the leash on him will snap one day. His smile didn’t give that line of thought away. </p><p>“Promise it. You said before you weren’t <em> sure </em> if you’d honor your last one. Promise.”</p><p>Elias’ posture relaxed, just a little, eyes staring into Peter’s. He sighed, conceding. “I promise.”<br/><br/>Peter brightened. “Wonderful!” When Elias moved to step around him again, Peter stopped him again. Irritation, this time. Elias opened his mouth, no doubt to tell him off. </p><p>Peter leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You know, if you gave me more instead of being so controlling, this could be more tolerable for both of us.” He whispered against his cheek. He pulled back, pretending not to see the shock, or the tiny flush. He’d made the correct assumption. And now he knew he could <em> use </em> it. “I’ll meet you by the door!” </p><p>He said cheerfully, leaving Elias clutching his empty mug in the kitchen.</p><p>He felt that gaze burn into his back on the way out. </p><p>---</p><p>Gertrude was walking into the Institute at the same time as Peter and Elias, and Peter could not curse his luck more. She paused, waiting for them to catch up, and nodded to them both. “Mr. Lukas, Elias.”<br/><br/>Peter tried very hard not to meet her eyes. It was like trying to avoid a wave crashing into the sand. Or against the rocks. There was certainly danger enough in it. Something about her made him as equally nervous as if caught behind that wave. She was like Elias, but it felt like she would snap easier. Dangerous. He reluctantly met her, frankly distressingly piercing, brown eyes and forced a smile. “Please, Peter. Hello, again!”</p><p>As the wave crashed, the undertow pulled him into her orbit. He felt pinned, trapped under that gaze. He was an unwanted presence here. Interfering with plans of <em> decades </em>, going by her age. It was just as worse to be under that gaze a second time, and he started when he felt a hand on his back. </p><p>“Gertrude.” Elias said, sounding amused. “And how are you this morning?”</p><p>The eyes dragged reluctantly off of him as Gertrude and Elias began to engage in small talk. </p><p>Elias didn’t look away from the conversation as Peter slid away from the two of them and walked deeper into the Institute. </p><p>Peter was able to find a small office space after a short while, and he made his calls and plans with relative ease. The only thing he couldn’t provide was another time to speak. While frustrating, to be honest, he wouldn’t provide one even if he had better circumstances. </p><p>He wrapped up most of his business around noon, and wandered his way to the canteen. He bought himself a sandwich, and then took it with him as he began to snoop the Institute. </p><p>He didn’t stay visible, that wasn’t a condition he was given by Elias. He didn’t want to engage in small talk, or questions about what he was doing there, how someone could <em> help </em> him. No. </p><p>He wandered down towards the basement, and had scarcely turned the handle for the door to “The Archives” before a hand reached from behind him and pressed the door shut again. </p><p>“Peter.” Elias said casually. “Not yet.”</p><p>Peter felt irritated, but stepped back from it, turning to the shorter man. “Why not?”</p><p>A tight smile. Peter felt more indignant irritation bubble in him. “Come away from the door, it gets busy down here.”</p><p>Peter stepped obligingly back, and almost immediately a gaunt man with a mess of blonde curls came bursting out. He looked like he was about to cry, balancing a load of papers and a bag, and barely gave the two of them a glance before running off. Peter pressed firmly to the wall as the door opened again and Gertrude’s voice called after the retreating form.</p><p>“And hurry, Michael! We don’t have a lot of time.” </p><p>The blonde man (Michael? Peter would forget his name before long) was already gone, and the door began to swing closed again. Before it could shut it was caught, and it was swung open wide. Gertrude glared at them both. Peter shrunk back. Elias didn’t move a muscle. </p><p>“Elias. ...Peter.” Her voice was full of disdain. “What do you want?”</p><p>“Hello, Gertrude. Peter wanted to see the Archives. Do you have a moment?”</p><p>Gertrude looked very much as if she was going to say no, but didn’t have the immediate words to do so. Peter wondered if it was Elias, Peter’s family name, or something in the middle. Either way, she didn’t look happy about it.</p><p>“Excellent, I’ll leave you in her capable hands, then.” Elias said, patting Peter’s shoulder and turning to go. “...Ah, yes. Do meet me in my office when you’re done.”</p><p>And then he left. Peter wished he hadn’t. He felt a brief moment of panic at being abandoned with this woman. Maybe he could slip away. Maybe she wouldn’t care to- Gertrude fixed that cold look on him, and opened the door wider. “Come on, then. I don’t have all day.” Her tone was rough, brusque. </p><p>Peter just wanted to explore on his own. He followed after Gertrude as she explained the few things she would, and this place was a <em> mess </em>. Peter stepped on a few statements and she didn’t even seem to notice or care. She talked fast, walked fast, and by the time she opened the door to an office, where even more papers were scattered. The lighting was poor, the room was a mess. Peter was certain he was going to die here. </p><p>That wasn’t an exaggeration. Anything he said seemed like a personal affront to her, and he didn’t dare ask any questions. She looked at her watch, clicking her tongue. </p><p>“I have to go. I trust you can find your way out?” The narrow-eyed glance he received just made him nod. Gertrude sped off, and Peter was left surrounded by papers that basically <em> screamed </em> of other entities. He felt the tug at his chest, sinking into his stomach. Ah. He was supposed to go see Elias when he was done. Well, he <em> wasn’t </em> . He was going to look at these items, from a safe distance, and <em> then </em> go. The tugging feeling went away at the thought. </p><p>He didn’t touch any of the statements. He just stood down there, surrounded by the calls of other entities. The high pitched buzz of his own drowned them out before long. </p><p>It seemed to echo louder and louder around the empty room. </p><p>---</p><p>Peter was out, he’d left when he knew Elias was going to be at work. He crossed the threshold that night and knew his coat wasn’t there.</p><p>---</p><p>He started using the kisses more for leverage. Touches, ones that sometimes made Peter’s own skin crawl, or even worse, ones that made his skin <em> warm. </em></p><p>---</p><p>The next time he stepped foot in the Institute, he felt it. His coat was there. He wasn’t surprised.</p><p>---</p><p>Elias curled a hand around Peter’s tie, dragging him down to his level. Peter stooped, not wanting to cause a scene in public. He fixed his eyes onto Elias’ hair, ignoring the warm breath across his face. Elias quickly untied the knot, shaking his head. “Did no one teach you how to tie a tie?” </p><p>“No.” Peter responded, quite honestly. He grimaced, feeling slightly choked. Elias was not being gentle, his irritation at performing such a task had him tugging harder and tying tighter. He released him. Peter cleared his throat, tugging himself a little bit of breathing room, then felt the need to explain a little. “I never wear them.”</p><p>“Ridiculous.” Elias murmured. But, as he smoothed his hands out across Peter’s lapels, they lingered a little longer than they should have. His expression softened, lines smoothing around his mouth and his eyes. Peter was close enough to see it, and stayed very still.</p><p>It tingled. Pins and needles again, spreading through where the hands touched down to Peter’s own fingertips. The tingling turned to an itch, a twitch that begged for him to do something back.</p><p>Peter stepped away from the touch as soon as the waiter reappeared. Relieved. </p><p>...Disappointed?</p><p>What followed was the extremely overpriced dinner, that seemed to simultaneously frustrate and satisfy Elias. The food, atmosphere, and service were <em> perfect. </em>Peter’s company was purposefully less so. He evaded prompts, giving the shortest answers possible and not returning the favor to find anything out about Elias. Elias looked unhappy, and had had quite a bit of wine in return, by the time they began the trek home. </p><p>“You could at least <em> try.” </em> Elias snapped, throwing his jacket over the banister. </p><p>“Why? That wasn’t part of the deal. I dressed up, I paid. I was cordial. We’re home.” </p><p>“You’re infuriating.” </p><p>“Of course! You give me no incentive to be anything else!” Peter cheerfully shucked his own jacket, throwing it next to Elias’. </p><p>Elias glared at him, then sighed, walking up the steps. Peter followed after him. At the juncture, where Peter would go right and Elias left, Elias paused. Peter, still behind him, rolled his eyes. </p><p>Elias turned, facing Peter. Peter could see the flush of the wine on his cheeks. He remembered how handsome he had found him the first time he saw him. That hadn't changed, but now he shoved that aside. The red face was contemplating something. He knew, in that moment, Elias was going to ask something stupid. Or devastating. </p><p>“Come to bed with me.” </p><p>There it was. Both.</p><p>“No?” </p><p>Elias frowned, eyebrows lowering in genuine puzzlement. “Why.”</p><p>“That’s a stupid question!” Peter said cheerfully. Elias’ expression tightened, and he rolled his eyes. </p><p>“Is it?” Elias looked at his face, searching for something there. He apparently didn’t find it, because he sighed, removed his hand from the wall, and turned around to continue up the steps. Peter didn’t move. </p><p>The question, now brought back to his mind as Elias walked away, sifted down into an answer he wanted to throw from his body. It disgusted him, and intrigued him, and fed his <em> god </em> as Elias went around the corner, door to his room closing behind him. Peter stayed on the steps until he heard Elias get into his bed, because if he walked up those stairs before his answer was settled, he knew what he would say. </p><p>
  <em> Yes. </em>
</p><p>---</p><p>Peter was up before Elias the next morning. A rare event, and it was pushing nine when Peter went downstairs. He stared at his mug of tea, eyes drifting as he tried not to think of his narrowly avoided catastrophe last night. If Elias had asked again… Peter’s grip tightened on his mug, and he glared at the stove. That brought a new wave of irritation over him. He’d been living here. For at least a month now. This was something he could at least control. He slammed his mug down, smoothed his expression out, and began to cook. </p><p>Elias came down the stairs as he was finishing up. Of course he did. He could hear his footsteps approaching, and Peter tensed, turning his back to him to drop the dirty pan in the sink. </p><p>“...Now <em> this </em> is interesting.” Elias said, sounding genuinely surprised. Peter could see without seeing the <em>exact</em> expression that tone of voice accompanied. The raised eyebrows, the glimmer in his eyes. When had he started paying that much attention to him? The sound of a chair pulling out followed his words. It scooted back in. </p><p>“...Don’t consider it a regular occurrence.” Peter shot back cheerfully, back still turned.</p><p>A pause.</p><p>“...Oh? Is this for me?” </p><p>“Not originally.” Peter muttered. He moved his plate to the sink. “...But there is extra!” </p><p>There was. Peter had only two slices of the quiche, and he hadn’t been able to find a smaller dish to make it in. </p><p>Or so he validated to himself. If he’d stop to think about it, he’s sure he would have realized he could have used many of the same ingredients for an omelette, single serving and all. He didn’t stop to consider.</p><p>There was a long pause, heavy with anticipation, or Sight, or perhaps both. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard Elias cut into the quiche, knife hitting the porcelain. Oh, no. He could think of nothing worse than sitting through Elias eating his food. He abandoned the dirty dishes. Peter made for the door, just in time to hear Elias murmur, with a tone of surprise. </p><p>“This is good. I didn’t know you could cook.”</p><p>The words were like an assault on him. Digging into his chest and dislodging the gentle, comforting cold That was enough to send him practically running up the stairs to his room, slamming the door behind him. He leaned against it, hands shaking, and slid to the floor. He smiled. And then buried his face in his hands.</p><p>Oh, no. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so there is a sex scene here- I may rewrite it later but this chapter has needed to be shoved out into the world long enough!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>July had shown its horribly humid face. Peter always hated July. A dreadful affair from childhood where, on the hot days, he’d been driven back into Moorland instead of exploring the grounds. He’d been subject to many a cornering from his younger siblings, who’d had a sort of idolization of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And a savior complex </span>
  <em>
    <span>for</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, as it turned out. Trying to get him in on their games and engage with him. Save him from the rest of the family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That didn’t matter, not anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been avoiding Elias after the breakfast fiasco, to marginal success. He didn’t want to think about feelings. He didn’t need to know about his own, or face any sort of temptation to follow up. As he looked at himself in the mirror this morning he looked...healthy. The white in his hair had stopped spreading, the natural color of his curls longer than they’d been in years, and there was a certain color to his skin that he wasn’t used to. A color he didn’t usually have. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Staying here was killing the Lonely in him, he realized quite suddenly. Angrily. The yearning he had for Elias was </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely</span>
  </em>
  <span> feeding it, with the fact that it was requited. It wasn’t acted on, aside from the manipulative kisses Peter initiated. But it was enough. Domestic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, though he still went out for sacrifices, the fact that he had a place he came home to each night, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>person</span>
  </em>
  <span> he came home to each night, was </span>
  <em>
    <span>murdering </span>
  </em>
  <span>the Lonely in him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to go. He had to figure out how to leave before he was stuck here, not by any supernatural means, but by human ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left the room, moving quickly down the stairs to the door. He realized he couldn’t leave. Elias wasn’t at work. He’d re-negotiated the terms and now he couldn’t leave if Elias was here. He shut the door, frustrated, and moved back up the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter.” He heard a voice call. He ignored it, until he felt the familiar tug that accompanied Elias's next words. “Come here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter sighed, and went to the study. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias held a letter in his hands, reading over it carefully. He didn’t look up. Called in just to be ignored. Peter didn’t mind that at all. Peter sat across from him, eyes trailing to the shelves of books. It was comfortably vague enough, until he looked down at the desk and saw the envelope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it your birthday, Peter?” Elias asked, a note of surprise in his voice. The letter was placed to the side. Judith. His twin. His betrayer. She may as well be </span>
  <em>
    <span>Judas</span>
  </em>
  <span> to him in this exact moment. She’d never once forgotten to send a letter in July, even if Peter had never opened them. Never once replied. She must have remembered the address from the congratulations. Peter scowled at the letter, the pretty, neat script of the sister who refused to let him go. His expression faded, sliding back to the vaguely numb smile. He kept his voice perfectly cheery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t Know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t Look. Is it today?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Today is the 12th.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter made no response, shrugging again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You don’t know what day your birthday is?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. And I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to, Elias, before you poke into my head!” Peter cleared his throat, pulling the letter from Elias's hands. There was a brief moment of curiosity. To read it, see what Judith had to say to him after all these years. He ignored it, loving the pang of Loneliness that rewarded him for such an effort, and crumpled the letter into a ball. He threw it into Elias's bin. “We’re not told the day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s enough explanation on Peter’s part, but it seemed to spark some curiosity into Elias's gaze. He can feel it prickle deeper, searching. No doubt he wanted to know more about Lukas family childhoods. How </span>
  <em>
    <span>traumatizing</span>
  </em>
  <span> they were. The horror of them. Something he could use to scare Peter or another Lukas. Peter would not be obliging that curiosity. He kept his expression neutral, blank. Didn’t think of any specific moments that Elias could use. The prickling feeling pulled back after a moment, disappointed. “Is that all, Elias?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He asked, flatly enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias straightened, crossing his hands over each other neatly. Peter hadn’t noticed how close he’d leaned in. “We will, of course, have to celebrate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would rather not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It will be a small party, don’t worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea of a party was horrifying enough to Peter. People milling about that he was expected to speak with. Hours of that. “Again! I’d rather </span>
  <em>
    <span>not.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias ignored him. Peter’s hands curled into fists. Infuriating man. “And how old are you now, Peter?*”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” Peter answered, feeling a prickle that urged him on. There was no harm in guessing. He racked up the years mentally. “...Close to thirty, give or take.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. Let’s go with thirty, then. A nice, even, number. That’s what I’ll tell the guests.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Peter groaned. “No guests!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Peter was drunk. Peter was </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely</span>
  </em>
  <span> drunk. It was the only way he could stand Elias's friends. Or this party at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon, at least, was bearable. But, they’d met before. When Peter was a fresh captain, he had taken the Tundra into deep enough waters that Simon had noticed, dropping next to him one day to ask him about his ship. Peter had spoken to the skinny old man with an arrogance he regretted. The old man had smiled and made him drop. He made him drop for so long. It was impossible to tell how long it had been, but Peter remembered dropping deeper and deeper into cold water, unable to right himself. Unable to swim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Peter had been kinder after that. Had even engaged with him when he showed his shriveled, cheerful, little face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t bad company. Cheerful, didn’t delve too deep. They had each other’s numbers, and Peter could consider him an acquaintance. No. Simon was fine with him being here, and laughed a bit at his antics.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the other one. Unsettlingly blank eyes, a calm and measured tone. Peter knew who he was and tried very carefully not to speak too much to him. He struck him as dangerous, in a temperamental way instead of a whimsical one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias at least had spared him any more than those two, and Peter had a pleasant enough time playing cards with them. They sat in Elias’s sitting room, staring portraits and all, and played. Simon and Rayner sat on chairs on either side, and Elias and Peter sat in the middle couch, close enough that their knees bumped occasionally. Elias didn’t participate every round, preferring to speak idly with the guests. Trail a hand possessively across Peter’s upper arm. Peter had flinched the first few times, but he’d gotten used to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group seemed content to speak without Peter, only occasionally drawing him in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt as if he were the least important part of this gathering. The three others made him feel small, insignificant. ...Young. His intoxicated brain clung curiously to that last part. He was the youngest in the room, but not by much, especially with Elias.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias passed a hand along his back, leaning down to press a kiss to Peter’s lips before leaving the room. The other two didn’t even blink, continuing to play without pause. Perhaps Elias had partners around before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Say.” Simon said after a moment. “Does Elias keep you in the loop now? Since you’re so happily married?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The loop?” Peter replied with confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The loop! Halley and I wondered-” Simon paused, seeming to measure out his words carefully. “-What he tells you about himself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter snorted, placing a card down and picking one up. “No weaknesses, if that’s what you’re talking about!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simon frowned, looking to the other man. Rayner cleared his throat, folding his cards onto the table, withdrawing from the game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is your husband’s name?” He asked, rather bluntly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elias.” Peter said, confusion slipping into his tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rayner passed Simon a note. Peter didn’t look close enough to see how much, but he realized what it’d meant. They’d bet on him. And it had to do with Elias's name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...But, I’m aware he has another!” Peter lied. Simon paused, smiling at him. Peter felt like he was shrinking under that look, nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you?” He said, encouraging, prompting. Peter’s mind whirled, but Elias was walking back now, and he slid into the seat next to him, hand trailing over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Peter said, quietly. Simon smiled, revealing his hand. He’d won. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The time came for cake. Peter was eager for that part, he liked his sweets. He was...not amused when Elias had insisted on the singing. Rayner stood in silence while the other two sang, and Peter decided he was his favorite of the group. He sat, arms crossed, as the small cake was put in front of him. The candles were still burning, and three sets of eyes were on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You blow them out, Peter.” Elias provided, helpfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed. Peter leaned forwards, and Simon made a sound, interrupting him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s traditional to make a wish!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter glanced at Elias. He blew out the candles, deliberately still looking at him, eyebrows lowering. Elias’s smile tightened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rayner rose to have a smoke, and he offered a cigarette to Peter. Peter took it, not because he particularly wanted to, but he felt as if he should. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t ask to leave the house. Not in front of their guests, especially when he saw the look in Elias’s eyes when he made eye contact with him. Elias wanted him to. He wanted to deny him in front of the other two. Peter would not give him that opportunity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He led Rayner up the stairs and to the balcony, hearing Simon’s loud laughter and Elias’s sharp and witty (but slightly slurred) responses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood in silence, lighting their cigarettes quietly. It was not a particularly large balcony, and Peter was still tilted half inside when Rayner did open his mouth. Smoke came out, darker than it should be. Darker than the sky here, bleeding against a greying yellow. An infection of light pollution. Peter wonders how that affected someone like Rayner. Someone who needed the mystery of the pitch to pull his victims in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Do you keep secrets, Peter Lukas?” He asked, quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter let the question sit, thinking about it carefully. The only secrets he could think of were the secrets of the fears, the secrets carried by his family, things meant to be remembered but never uttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” Rayner responded. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shrugged, tilting his body out of the balcony now, shoulder brushing the other’s. “Many things shouldn’t be said. I have no desire to repeat them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rayner smiled, looking away. “Loyal of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter bristled. “Not at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you’ll indulge me something.” Rayner continued, unbothered. “Simon also thinks you should know, if that matters to you. He thinks you’ve trapped yourself here, somehow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter said nothing. It said more than speaking about it would have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...As he thought, then.” A pause. “Your husband serves the Eye, and he understands the power knowledge can bring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rayner stared at Peter. Peter held the cigarette in between his fingers and carefully stared back. He didn’t have anything to contribute, so he stared. That was enough for Rayner, seemingly. “...I serve the Dark. There’s power in hiding truth. He’s chosen to hide for quite a while now.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I think it only fair to perform the same switch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take something from him that I’m sure he’s been saving for a delightful occasion.” The cigarette flicked from the older man’s fingers, over the balcony and into the street below. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His name isn’t Elias. It was, and always will be, Jonah Magnus. He’s changed his appearance, but that doesn't change who he is.” Rayner said casually. If he expected a reaction, he didn’t get one. Peter stood, watching the cigarette burn lowly on the cobblestones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Perhaps you can use that for something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Rayner turned away, leaving Peter behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cigarette burned in his hand, a column of uninterrupted ash that fell to the ground when it finally burned the tips of his fingers. He closed the balcony door, and he didn’t go back down the steps to the party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened a few hours later, a warm hand pressing against his back. “They’re gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter made a sound of acquiescence. A few moments passed, tipsy disappointment and careful cold consideration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cheek pressed in between his shoulder blades, arm wrapping around his waist. “Come inside, Peter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter sighed. He turned in Elias’s grip, looking over the man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was handsome, Peter knew. In the real way. Elias would have never been a super model, but he was mentioned when crushes came up. He was attractive enough to catch someone’s gaze, and purposefully bland enough when he talked to cause it to move away. Peter saw the what he was underneath that facade, now. He saw Jonah Magnus. He saw the frantic obsession, the burning fire of need for knowledge, the cruel ice when no one was around to see it. Jonah Magnus flew under the radar as a boring office boss Elias Bouchard, but when the mask was lifted, he was passionate and crueler than Peter could ever be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Peter </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> him for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he was a little ruffled, red high on his cheeks, glasses slightly fogged by the humid summer air. An endearing mix of his personas, which Peter now knew were possibly two separate people entirely. He took a breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Do you love me, Elias?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something guarded trying to fight past the tipsiness. Elias seemed to shove it down. “...Yes, Peter. I love you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter believed him. He leaned down and crashed their lips together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias seemed shocked by this, but that didn’t stop him from kissing back, tipping his head back and wrapping his arms around Peter. Peter lifted him by the hips, hearing the strangled “Peter-” and moved him back, pressing him down against the bed, over top of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That position didn’t last long. Peter kissed him, tongue moving gently against his, but he could feel Elias growing impatient under him. And growing hard in his trousers. Peter reached down, brushing a hand against him, testing, and that was when Elias had enough.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He flipped Peter onto his back, pressing him down hard into the mattress and grinding against him, kisses burning and insistent as he pulled at his hair. Peter let him tug at his clothes next, keeping his hands sliding slowly over Elias, exploring over smooth skin, passing over chest hair and a well muscled back. He lifted his hips when Elias started pulling at his bottoms, helping to kick them off and then pausing with a sharp breath as Elias pressed a hand against him, the tip of a finger just barely dipping into him, coming away wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias drew back just to give Peter a shark’s grin, working at unbuttoning his own bunched up shirt as Peter stared at him. Handsome, harsh, horrible. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...I do too.” Peter whispered at last, unable to say the right word. He didn’t need to, he was sure. The effort alone was more than enough. Elias paused, sharp smile softening just a little as he pressed his lips against Peter’s again. A moment of softness before diving back in again, hungry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias pulled and pushed and bended Peter under him. It was a breathless process, offset by teeth and fingernails and words and a demanding man above him. He shivered when Elias finished inside him. A break, panting, and then Elias immediately replaced himself with his mouth. Peter gasped and writhed under a tongue that seemed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> exactly what felt good, driving him to a shuddering mess. Over and over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Peter felt he might die if Elias kept going any longer, the other man drew back, wiping his face. He was hard again. Peter took a few breaths, a few moments, steadying himself as Elias laid back next to him. He rolled to his side, wrapping his hand around him, and he moved Elias at his pace. Slow, teasing, stopping a few times when Elias seemed to get too into it. Elias curled closer to him, arms around him as Peter pulled him over the edge, feeling Elias finish against both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was clean when he woke up, and he smiled, knowing Elias had at least enough kindness in him to take care of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt so warm. So loved, and it pressed against his heart like a vice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter propped his elbow under him, leaning over Elias, and tilted his face gently to his. He pressed their lips together, and he felt Elias sag under him and wake up, satisfied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to let me go.” Peter whispered, as he pulled back from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias stiffened, hand curling into Peter’s hair and tugging him back down for another kiss. Peter went easily, knowing Elias's curiosity would tear him back from it before long. It did. Elias sighed against his lips and pulled back enough to speak. “And why would I do that? After I </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> got what I wanted from you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Intimacy. Sex. Love. Understanding. Peter smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re killing the Lonely in me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias's eyes glittered, and he cupped Peter’s face. “And what if I want that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A challenge. Trying to appear stronger than he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter sighed. “You don’t. Because then I won’t be me anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias said nothing, fingernails digging into Peter’s cheek. “...my answer is no.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter frowned. Elias kissed that look off of him, desperately. Peter jerked back, feeling the nails catch on his skin, clawing burning lines into his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter.” It was stern, pulling at the damned coat that laid out of his grasp, molding him into his shape. Into his design. Trying to make him bend. “Enough. I don’t want to hear about it anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter gritted his teeth. “Elias. Please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It jerked again, disobeying the order brought that similar feeling of seasickness, and he breathed heavily, pulling back from the other. Elias stared at him, eyes shifting into a glittering hardness. His shape almost seemed to expand, stretching out above Peter, despite their size difference being the reverse. He pushed Peter onto his back, staring him down.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No. I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Peter opened his mouth, and Elias’s hand pressed tightly over it. He didn’t need to, the protest would have made Peter vomit, he was sure. He breathed through his nose, hot over Elias’s fingers, willing the seasickness down as he stared into his eyes. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Elias looked down his nose at Peter, forcing him to bend, give it up, give in. Peter went limp, like prey yielding to its death by a predator. Elias lifted his hand, and Peter was silent. His lips curled up as the other didn’t speak. Cruel and wide and victorious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was never going to let him go, Peter realized. He’d watch Peter fade away to nothing before he did. He’d watch Peter </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span> before he gave up his power over him. It was a hopelessly grim future, and Peter knew those eyes would watch him until he left this world. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>No. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want anyone to be there when he died.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...But he had a card up his sleeve, slipped up by a man surrounded by darkness. A wildcard, and he realized he needed it now. He needed to say it. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jonah.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something stretched almost to the point of breaking, releasing the pressure off of Peter. There was a rush of the ocean within his ears, a high pitched squeal of the Lonely following as it flooded back into him. He gasped, and then it settled again. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Elias pulled back, expression turning to disbelief. A flash of something else. Concern? Fear? Rage. Peter knew he was considering which of his friends had given it away. He would have to thank Rayner, because Peter was suddenly very certain that the man would never get peace after this day. “...</span>
  <em>
    <span>What </span>
  </em>
  <span>did you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Your name. Jonah Magnus.” Peter said, testing it on his tongue. The stretching came again. Space. Having Jonah’s name gave him </span>
  <em>
    <span>space. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He stood up, feeling giddy, as if he could finally breathe again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter. Come back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He whispered, testing it. There was still a tug, but it settled out as he thought of Jonah’s name again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could leave. Jonah still had his coat, he could still try to control him, try to bend him down, but Peter could </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He reached for his clothes, dressing with shaking fingers as Jonah watched him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter-”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No!” He cut him off cheerfully, searching in the closet for something he hadn’t needed in almost two years. His boots. He pulled them on as Jonah stood, crossing over to him, wrapping his arms around him. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Peter. Don’t.” He whispered, voice low. Vulnerable. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But the ocean was calling, the Lonely screaming alongside it. It got louder and louder as Peter made the decision to leave. The right decision. Peter could barely hear Jonah anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no tug. Jonah wasn’t using the coat. He knew he couldn’t, so he tried to appeal with his humanity at last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too late. Far too late for that. Peter shook his head, smiling.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And he walked away. He walked down the stairs and out the front door and nothing, not even the furious yelling that followed, or the harsh tugging in his chest, could stop him.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
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